


Introspection

by Betterday



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betterday/pseuds/Betterday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold, will do anything for each other. They are discovering, how deep their bond runs. Spoilers up to episode 3.5 Razgovor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Number

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt, at writing fan-fiction. Any feedback would be much appreciated, please be gentle!

The biting wind nipped at Reese, causing him to pull his cashmere coat closer to himself, trying to keep out the chill. He briskly strode along the grimy side walk, absorbing the sight of New York waking up around him, on another cold, winter morn.

John discreetly smiled to himself, as he remembered that Finch had as usual been the first voice that he had heard in the morning. The former Special Forces Operative had returned from his run, to be met with the always welcoming sound, emitting through his ever present comm link, of Harold's dulcet tones informing him of a new number. Even though they both knew that John would have come to the library regardless, there was a mutual need to reconnect when they had not spoken for a few hours, just to check that the other was all right.

They had gone out to the theater the previous night, to see a Broadway production of The Mystery of Edwin Drood, which they had enjoyed immensely. Relishing a post viewing supper and analysis, at a sumptuous Indian place that Finch had heard good things about. Reese lengthened his stride, in his eagerness to touch base with Finch, his savior from a lonely life without happiness or purpose.

John made a swift pit stop to pick up a coffee, Sencha green tea with one sugar and a box of donuts. No doggy danish for Bear as he wanted to be spared another well meaning lecture from his partner, extolling the harm of said food to the canine digestive system. He had to admit, that Bear was in danger of putting on a few pounds of late. The man in a suit, blamed Shaw for sneaking him treats as well, the Belgian Malinois was definitely getting too much of a good thing.

Finch glanced up as John entered the library carrying his delicacies, smoothly depositing the box on the table nearby. Harold stiffly rose to his feet, as he graciously accepted his tea from John, they briefly brushed fingers and the spark was comforting. Their bat-cave sanctuary, always felt more secure with John in it and Harold sorely missed him, when he was not around. 

The sudden image of a forlorn John, trapped in Rikers sprang unbidden to his mind and he quickly chased it away. Never had Harold felt more desperate and heart stoppingly distraught, than when his partner had been taken by the FBI. A comfortable domestic bliss of bathing their dog and rainy day cinema outings, had been cruelly snatched away in an instant. 

The sound of John thanking him and saying goodbye, maddeningly protecting him as always, had felt like a dagger impaling his heart. Feeling helpless and sick with worry, that this was the last time he would hear John's low raspy voice. All he could do was cry out “John” and hold back the tears threatening to fall. Praying to some deity that he did not wholly believe in, that John would not shoot it out to the end with the menacing henchmen and let himself be taken by the Agents, then at least he would be alive. Sometimes the lesser of two evils, was the only lifeline that you could cling too.

Suddenly aware of John's eyes lingering upon him, Finch snapped out of his disturbing reverie, mentally shook himself and focused on the task at hand. He limped over to the board and stuck up a printout of the number's photo driving license. The number had ebony, short black hair and hazel brown eyes. His baby face had yet to be worn down by the ravages of time and glowed with an optimism, that only the first flush of youth can bring.

“His name is Antony Martin, 21 and a history student at NYU. From what I can ascertain, he is a conscientious scholar who has spent most of his time of late working on his dissertation project, concerning The Boston Tea Party, by conducting research at the library. The only family he has is an Uncle who brought him up, since his parents were killed in a car crash when he was 7. I have yet to discover anyone who harbors ill will towards him.”

Finch paused, perusing Mr Reese, who was casually sitting with his feet propped up on the table as he listened intently; deftly managing to appear relaxed, yet ready to strike like a coiled cobra if danger presented itself. Appreciating how this once broken man, had filled an achingly lonely gap in Harold's life, surprisingly but thankfully becoming his closest friend and partner in this risky endeavor.

“I'll get eyes on our number,” stated John as he gracefully stood up. Never taking his eyes from Harold's, he questioned: “Is something wrong Finch? You seem distracted.”

“It's nothing Mr Reese,” Finch answered. Looking a little skittish, as he hobbled back to the filing cabinet to obtain a document. Then remembering, he had promised to never lie and had tried his best to keep to this, even if lying by omission had muddied the waters; he did not want to unnecessarily worry his cohort. However he did not know how to verbalize, that he had been having nightmares of being hopelessly lost, frantically searching for Reese and not finding him. A strange sense of foreboding, had had him in a stranglehold these past few days and he was determined, not to acknowledge its presence by giving voice to it.

“Well if you want to talk, you know where I'll be.” John sighed resignedly and turned to walk away.

Finch followed him with his eyes, reveling in his partner's confident and rhythmic gait. He had always worried, that when John had found out about his role in the Ordos affair that John would be angry, feel betrayed and so upset that he would ultimately leave him. He had dreaded revealing one of his skeletons, desperately afraid that John would deem him no longer worthy of being a friend. Losing the most valued relationship he had ever known would destroy him, he knew that with utmost certainty. John was his soul mate, the other side of the coin, the yin to his yang. He had been close to Nathan but ultimately their friendship had broken down, over fundamental differences regarding the irrelevant list.

“Some friendships aren't made to last.” Harold had been commenting on their curious one percenter, Logan's relationship with his partner, Justin Ogilvy. However Finch, had been sadly thinking about Nathan as well, when he had said it. Fortunately they had been picking up the pieces trying to rebuild it, then the ferry explosion had blown all that and hope asunder. Grace had been a breath of fresh air and he loved her artistic, free spirit even now. But she had never really known him, not even his real name. Something always held him back from revealing his true self, frightened of rejection and sullying, the almost too perfect ideal of romantic love. He had left her, true to keep her safe and dutifully following the old adage: 'If you love someone set them free...'

However he never really believed that cliché in his heart of hearts, if he was honest with himself. With all his resources that billions of dollars can buy, he could have kept her safe but then that would have been selfish. Woefully wrong to cage a bird that needs to fly free, feel the sunlight on its wings, something he can never do, as he must stay in the shadows. With Reese it was different, he felt an unbreakable bond connecting them and he had been more honest with him than anyone. That in itself was quite remarkable considering how paranoid he was, but John complemented him, was his heart to Harold's head. Even though secrets still pepper the landscape, he wants to safeguard Reese as much as he can from curiosity killing his beloved cat. He would not want to survive in a world without his best friend, as he would be a shade, a ship without an anchor set adrift in an unforgiving sea. 

Locking and loading that riot gun, he knew that he would have shot down the Gates of Hades and marched straight into Hell to free John. Determined not to leave, the greatest friend he had ever known to a tortuous fate, at the hands of a Government spook, as Fusco had referenced Hersch. Confidently he had proclaimed to John in that forbidden phone call, at the start of that all too recent nightmare, that in 48 hours Reese would be free from that dreadful Federal penitentiary. Bit by bit all his plans had disintegrated, due to the infuriatingly highly competent FBI Agent Donnelly. Shakily Finch had outlined the escape plans to Carter, he could not believe his ears, when she had revealed that their mutual friend had been released. 

This was more than he had dared to believe, his breath had caught in his throat as his eyes became wide, trying to force back the pinpricks of moisture that he would not let slip out. When his heart started beating again, her words slowly sunk in, his breaths that had been backing up, quickly came out in short bursts. Pure relief consumed him and unadulterated shock, at how far he had been prepared to go. Love for John, needing him to be safe and sound was all that mattered to him; and he would do absolutely anything to guarantee that. A complete truth, that frightened him in its intensity and gave him the power, to lay down his life for Reese if that was the price he had to pay, then he would gladly pay the piper. Knowing that his partner, would unflinchingly do the same was an incredible gift, to have someone love you that unconditionally; and burden, as he knew that he could not survive without John. The world was a better place, from having the ex-soldier in it, even if Reese had trouble believing this.

rinchrinchrinchrinch

John had as always, started by efficiently following normal operating procedure and broken into Martin's accommodation unseen. To learn more about their number and see if there were any skeletons in the closet, which he had learned from experience was not always just a saying. The former serviceman, discovered that Antony was diabetic, as his injection kit and medication revealed. Besides that, all was in order just the usual student mess of textbooks, towers of empties and pizza boxes, with contents that were beginning to sprout new life. 

“Nothing is happening, with our number Finch. Are you sure the machine, didn't just spit this out to give us a rest? As all this kid has done is hit the books for hours!”

“Do you think the machine is allowing us some downtime Mr Reese, to catch up on some light reading or research genealogy at the Archive?” Finch uttered his rhetorical question in a bemused tone, with a shiny glint of amusement lighting up his eyes.

John smiled wryly, as he began watching the irrelevant through his long lens and listening-in remotely, via the microphone in the number's cell phone, that he had earlier force paired.

“That would take you some time Finch, how many identities have you got?”

The computer artisan, emitted a derisory huff and coyly added: “Aaahh that would be telling! Ms Shaw are you in place?” 

“Yeeesss,” Shaw hissed out through gritted teeth. “And if I get one more drunken frat boy groping my ass, I will shoot them!” Adding as an afterthought, with a deadly smile.

John chortled, as he listened in on the comm link to Finch politely but curtly asking Shaw to: "Refrain from such heavy handed tactics and tend bar, as this is where Mr Martin frequents, after his studying quotient for the day is reached.”

Finch heard John’s chuckle and sighed. Shaw exasperated Harold, but he was warming to her, after she actually displayed affection for a number and showed, that she was a human being who cared about Genrika, even shockingly giving her a hug! Her insolence and boundary pushing were reminiscent of Reese in the early days, so that did endear her to him. However what disturbed him the most, was that John had actively sought her out as a contingency, so that if something happened to him, then Shaw could continue working the numbers with Harold. Except that is not what Finch would do, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he mulls this over as another intimated truth, that will not be articulated. As to do so would be to think about Reese dying, which was an anathema, a thought so horrible that if it ever came to pass it would destroy his world. 

Shaw was a poor facsimile of John, that is why he had referred to her from the start as 'John's project/friend.' Harold had been resisting the urge to admit what she represented, the back-up plan meant to replace the irreplaceable. 

The IFT founder, did respect her efficiency, but he knew that he could never forge the same depth of admiration and camaraderie that burns for Reese. The genius doubted her conviction and attributed her dedication, to be inextricably linked to her uncouth desire for action. This plebeian motivation, disturbingly resulted in rather too much death for Finch's piece of mind. 

Although she appeared for now, to be listening to their pleas to dial down the mayhem and destruction. She infuriatingly, would not always carry a cell phone and not being able to track her all the time, heightened his paranoia, not to mention skyrocketing his stress levels.

Harold would rather die with John, he was resolved to this on that rooftop, gladly ready to go down together, than even contemplate leaving to live on without his other half. Shaw could continue with Leon as Intel, or possibly Ms Groves if her rehabilitation can be achieved, providing the tech support. Finch had faith in humanity, their ability to change and atone for past crimes to attain redemption. Harold hoped, he would end this suicide mission with Reese going out together in a final showdown. Not losing the best part of himself, pining for a deceased John and dying of a broken heart. He had for too long lived half alive, barely surviving after Nathan's death and leaving Grace to safeguard her, but he had lived on. Finch knew with utmost certainty, that he could not and would not want to carry on, if John left this mortal coil, then Harold wanted to follow straight away.

Hours of surveillance, had turned up nothing but bored operatives and more threats of violence, from the over-zealous ex-marine. The intellectual, needed to breathe some fresh air and grabbed Bear's leash, attaching it to his faithful companion, who panted happily at the prospect of a walk. Finch knew Reese was behind him in the park, without even turning around, as each had a sixth sense lo-jacking the other, that only a deep understanding and symbiotic relationship could produce. The veteran moved in closer, sidling up to the older man, shoulders brushing. Each taking comfort from the closeness and security; of having each other near and sharing their once solitary lives. 

“Fancy a bite to eat Finch?” The sultry invitation, charged the air between them.

“Certainly Mr Reese, I feel in the mood for some Thai.” Soaking up the other's presence, like a plant seeking out the sun, warming his inner core. The younger man, matched his employer's uneven stride and comfortably grasped his elbow. Tugging his arm every so often, to guide him away from distracted roller bladers and joggers.

John watched Harold intently, over dinner at their favorite Thai restaurant; that Finch probably owned, as they never even batted an eyelid, when Bear had joined them the first time without his service vest. They had been going there a few months now and routine was dangerous, but great Pad Thai was worth the risk! Something had been worrying Finch, but he was as tight lipped as ever so John was determined, to get to the bottom of it and as always loved a challenge.  
“Talk to me Harold, you have seemed distracted these past few days, what's wrong, can I help? Is it Root, is she behaving herself?” 

Reese's demeanor, suddenly turned menacing at his mention of Root. He did not entirely understand Harold's need to help her, as she is a psychotic killer with delusions of grandeur. The paralyzing fear pulsating through him, the moment he had learned of Finch's kidnapping was an open wound, that would never fully heal. A major part of him would always hate Root, for what she had put the most honorable man John had ever known through. Dealing with Harold's agoraphobia and panic attacks afterward, had broken the old warrior's heart. Then to threaten Grace and effect a second kidnapping, was unforgivable. John had felt sick and scared for Finch, when he had willingly chosen to get into the vehicle with Root. 

However he had known, that Finch must have had his reasons and he trusted the man's good character implicitly. That faith had been rewarded, when his boss had had a tearful heart to heart with him at the nuclear base. “...I had hoped that if I hadn't returned, you would continue what we had started.” Harold had not wanted to risk John's life, as imagining him carrying on their quest to save lives, was his guiding light at the end of a dark tunnel. Reese could picture Finch's stricken face now, when he had apologized afterward for Ordos. Great fear filled eyes boring into his soul, as Harold waited with bated breath for John to end their friendship. Something the ex-soldier could never do, as loving the older man, had become essential to his being, like breathing in and out. He had not been devoted to anyone, as much as he was to Harold.

Jessica had been an impossible dream, that he had loved but who had never truly known him, the way that Finch did. It was such a salve for the soul, to benefit from having the deepest connection to another that he had ever experienced, which truly tethered him to the world. The only thing that stayed his hand, from taking diabolical revenge on Root, was that he feared becoming the monster again. He would never want Finch to fear him, or be disappointed in him, as Harold made him want to strive to be a better person.

“The Ms Groves situation, is being controlled. That is not what worries me. I have been having disturbing dreams of late,” Harold confessed to a bemused looking John.

“You do surprise me Harold. Have some Grimm Fairy Tales been giving you nightmares?” The former CIA spy smirked.

“Hardly Mr Reese. A person ignores their subconscious, at their peril. Dreams are like uncategorized code, revealing hidden motivations and solutions to problems, that often escape our conscious minds,” Finch crisply stated with a piercing stare, directed at an ever watchful John.

“So what do yours tell you?” John studied Harold, with an expectant and curious expression.

“That we are trying to reap the whirlwind Mr Reese; and sooner or later, we are going to get caught up in the aftermath.”

“No kidding! We have been doing that since day one Finch. We're on a suicide mission remember?”

“Silly me for forgetting that!” The genius shrugged, trying to brush off the sense of malaise that clung to him. He did not want to further dwell on his uneasiness, but rather enjoy his friend's presence. They companionably sat together, relishing their food and easy conviviality. Until it was time to leave and retreat to John's loft, for coffee and Harold's ubiquitous green tea.

Hours later of invigorating conversation and teasing banter, led to a natural parting of ways. Reese accompanied Finch, down the block to his waiting car and driver. Caution and paranoia, ever present in the billionaire's make-up. John never judged, or was upset by never knowing where his friend really called home. Understanding that whatever his mysterious boss, slowly revealed was a treasure and were secrets, that John would never betray. He may never even know, Harold's real name, but that was okay because he had the measure of the man, as a good guy, a true unsung hero and a decent gentleman. Reese considered it an unparalleled privilege, to be classed as his friend.

Working the case, meant another uneventful morning passed, with John dutifully conducting monotonous surveillance. The only lightness he felt was when he basked in the warm glow, that always evolved from hearing Finch's ever present, precise diction in his ear. Then suddenly, everything changed and the proverbial excrement hit the fan.


	2. Safe

Their number had dutifully attended lectures, a seminar and then spent the rest of the day, studying in the library. Just as Reese was losing his patience and wishing anything to happen, then as if to provide living proof that the old axiom, 'be careful what you wish for,' was true, something did. Antony had just packed his research away and was exiting the university, when a van pulled up by the side of him. Before he knew what was happening, three masked men were surrounding him, brandishing firearms. He stood there frozen, whilst two of the men grabbed hold of each of his arms and started, roughly bundling him into the vehicle. 

John was on his feet running, as soon as the vehicle screeched to a halt. “What's happening Mr Reese?” Finch queried, in a worried timbre. “I have a situation here Finch, I'll get back to you,” assured John. Harold listened intently, as the sounds of a scuffle and an awfully physical confrontation ensued. He waited with bated breath and a helpless feeling that he detested; as in the next few moments everything would either be all right, or if fickle fate decided to obliterate his universe, then that could happen too. The staccato of Harold's fluttery heartbeat, seemed to match the vicious thumps that were resounding through his earpiece. Two gunshots sounded and Harold's heart stopped, as he silently pleaded that his partner was uninjured. “Mr Reese?” Finch cried out. Feeling sick to the stomach at the horrific image of John lying bleeding out on the asphalt, that had just filled his mind and taken away his breath. Then John's familiar and ever so welcome breathy voice, reconnected with him through the comm to assuage his mounting fears.  
“We're all right Finch, but the bad guys got away, taking the number to the safe house now.”

The programmer breathed again and licked his ash dry lips. Forever thankful for his companion's expertise, at enabling his continued existence and joyous presence in Harold's life. Finch took a few calming breaths, trying to restore his equilibrium. This was such a common occurrence, John physically fighting the odds, that the IT aficionado should be used to it; but it never got easier, if anything it got harder, as Reese meant more to him each passing day. A few terrifying times, Harold had thought he had just listened to his best friend's death. He recalled with a chill that held him in a vice like grip, the horrific moment a single gunshot sounded, followed by a grunt of pain as Riley's bullet found its mark. Finch might as well have been shot that day, because his life had just ended; the sudden soul destroying realization hit him that he had just heard John be killed. He had quickly risen to his feet in a rush, as the full impact of crushing loss swept over him like a widow-maker wave. Eyes widened with horror and a defiant denial, echoing around in his head as Harold had struggled, to stay afloat in a sea of despair. Then John's voice rescued him, bringing with it hope and salvation. All was right with the world and Harold could rebury his worst fear again, as Reese was not dead.

bromancebromancebromance

John guaranteed there were no tails, as he took evasive measures and remained on high alert as he sped through the New York streets. The number was safely ensconced low down on the car's back seat, with a bag over his head so as not to willingly remember the route, or be forced to reveal it. Reese after arriving at their destination, diligently scouted the perimeter and ensured, that there were no unwelcome interlopers on the scene. The ex-Black Ops Agent keyed in the pass-code and entered the second floor apartment, in a block that Finch undoubtedly owned, as he indeed seemed to own most of Manhattan. John led the way, with Antony Martin close at his heels, like a restless, yet obedient puppy. 

“Thank you, for saving me,” Antony’s words spilled out in rapid fire, as nervous energy coursed through his veins. Reese acknowledged Mr Martin's gratitude, with a brief nod of the head.  
“Do you have any idea, why someone would want to kidnap you?” Reese asked, directing an appraising glance over his number.  
“No, I cannot believe it, I was just on my way to the bar to have a drink,” Antony stated in a shocked tone. Young fear filled eyes darted around the room, scared to settle on anything for too long. Adrenalin was pumping through him, causing his breath to come out in short gasps.  
“Were you meeting anyone?” John looked questioningly.  
“Just my roommate, Ben we were just going to hang out.”  
“It's okay, you're safe here, take a seat, do you want a drink? We'll stay here for a while, until we determine who is behind this,” John assured the worried student. The young scholar, shook his head in refusal of a drink and shakily sat down on the couch.

Finch chimed in at that point, a reassuring sound to John's ears. “Mr Reese, I am studying camera feeds from the university security system. I also have Detective Fusco, running the license plate on the van. Ms Shaw is at the bar talking to the roommate, to see what he knows. Is Mr Martin well?”  
“As well as can be expected; the men who tried to take him were not professionals, nor mercs, just hired locals, but why try to take our guy?” John pondered, whilst answering Antony’s unvoiced question with: “Tech support.”

John's cell rang and Fusco's gruff voice, entered the conversation.

“Big surprise, the van was stolen! But not a total bust, as there was a parking ticket issued on it, after the date it was reported stolen. Illegally parked in a loading zone in Forest Hills, am checking the area out now.” 

“Let me know what you find out,” John stated. Ending the call and studiously glancing at Martin, who still looked ill. 

Antony jumped, when John's hand clasped his arm. “C'mon you could use a lie down, there's a bedroom and en-suite just down the hall.” The ex-serviceman, gently guided Antony as he spoke and gave him a little push in the direction he needed to go.

Later John, left a sleeping number to interface with Finch. Meeting up on the darkened street corner, Reese was reminded of another time; when Logan Pierce had followed him and met a startled Finch. At least this time Bear was with Harold, having a nice walk and not moping in a depressed state back at the library. Rikers and all the ensuing chaos had traumatized them all, a stark reminder that just when life is going well, the rug can suddenly be pulled out from under you, shaking your foundations. John had been genuinely touched at how much Bear and Finch had been affected by his ordeal, it made him treasure even more highly, the time that he spends with his family.

John could see that Finch was looking particularly dapper tonight, wearing the cranberry colored trousers and moss green tie combination. Pity he could not see the pocket square, as Finch was snugly bundled up in his elegant full length and luxurious overcoat, plus jaunty scarf. Bear must have just come from a play-date with his dog friend, Sam as Harold was wearing 'the ring' on his wedding finger. His partner had worn the gold ring when he had approached the dog's owner for the first time, as a man with a wedding band becomes practically invisible to most women, who will thankfully not tend to misconstrue your approach as romantic interest. 

Reese smirked to himself as he considered what it would have looked like to any watchers, as the two men had sat down on the bench that day. An odd couple, taking their 'child' to play with other 'children' in the park. It had become an unspoken, yet instinctively agreed upon part of Harold Wren's cover, that John was his plus one. What was worrying Reese, was that he did not mind and rather enjoyed the assumption, that Wren was his partner in every sense. Secretly delighting in the fantasy, that they could be the happily marrieds, without any numbers intruding on their bliss. Maybe one day, they would have the nerve to make this a reality or live the dream, depending on how you looked at it. 

John felt hot under the collar, just thinking about Harold's violent reaction to Logan's ostentatious gift. Meaning even more coming from such a usually careful, understated and measured man. He could sense his billionaire's indignation and proprietary claim, as he forcefully broke the watch, along with any other's attempt to acquire John for his own. Logan had been trying to track them with the GPS, but also to impress John and buy his affection, having the audacity to try to mark Wren's territory. Harold had dealt with that showy monstrosity of a present, swiftly and emotionally, by stamping on it in public, in a pique of jealousy. Not caring that he was out in the open, his possessive love for John, stirring primeval urges to fight off any competition. Directing a caustic and knowing look at Reese, when he had pointed out that Harold had just smashed an expensive watch, that was also a gift. 

The ex-CIA operative, recalled Harold's later charged words: “How dare Mr Pierce, think that he can buy you with such a vulgar and ridiculously crass item. Pretentiously hoping to purchase your loyalty, as if it could ever be for sale.” 

The genius was so upset, that he could not bear to return the watch to John, but re-gifted it to Lou, the retired watch repairman, so that some good could derive from it. Reese did not mind, so long as his boss was happy, because that was all that mattered. He did not fight unbeatable odds to prevent just anyone dying from Russian roulette. The thought of that twisted game crept into his mind, hating the feeling of horror as the gun was pointed at Harold. Knowing that he had to finally act, to save this irrelevant, the only one relevant to him; as the chance of a bullet in the chamber erasing his everything, was too great a risk. He could have lived with Leon's death and John's own had never mattered, only Harold the world could never stand to lose.

Reese trembled, when he suddenly recalled Finch's words about Grace to him that night:  
"I'll grow old with her, Mr. Reese, just from afar. Beyond that, it's best not to think about it."  
John knew that no dialogue could bring comfort to emotional turmoil, so he had sadly turned away. Leaving the older man, time to reminisce and grieve for a love that can never be. A condition that the former clandestine operative could well understand, as he fondly remembered Jess, with a yearning ache for what might have been, that would never fully diminish. 

However John had dared to hope, that he could finally be happy. The realization that this rare condition he had found himself in, was happiness, hit him when he had awoken one morning, with a smile on his face. He had later told Harold that “...it must be this job.” Fondly picturing Finch's shyly smiling face, as he had retorted with: “Well, I'm glad.”  
After-all the happiest people, are those that do not necessarily have the best of everything, but make the best of everything. He was lucky that in his case, both of those sentiments were apt. For the verve of life he had now acquired, came not from expensive possessions, even though Harold would gladly and limitlessly gift them. Finch had given him not only a purpose but a home, literally and figuratively speaking. The impressive loft's location with its outlook, indicating not only its proximity to the park where his Xiangqi playing friend Mr Han dwelled, but Harold's consideration of John's well being. Shaw had commented once, after Reese had revealed that he had planted a tracking device in the recluse's glasses, “I can understand why you and Harold get along.” The former spy used his espionage skills, to keep tabs on the ones he cares about. After-all he had lost loved ones before, Harold would not be added to this number. 

Back in the day, Reese had followed and had Fusco tail Finch, to discover anything about this enigmatic, extremely private man. It had been a fun game at the start, but as time passed it had started to irk him, that Harold did not seem to trust him. After everything they had been through, this brought resentment, that had seeped through in comments like:  
“Sooner or later you are going to have to let the cat out of the bag.”  
Harold had parried with a warning: “Curiosity kills cats, Mr Reese.”  
In deference to his knowing about John's heartbreak, the billionaire had allowed Reese to discover Grace. The men did indeed have more in common, than any casual observer could surmise. Both leaving to protect those they love, hoping that this would gift each woman with a long and rewarding life.  
Learning about Miss Hendricks, had marked a turning point in his relationship with Harold, as trust was shown to indeed be a two-way street. Finch had reached out to him and showed his faith in John, by entrusting him with his dearest secret. The former Paramilitary Operations Officer, immediately stopped following Finch after that, only planting a tracker after recovering him from Root; some say it with flowers!

John just wished, that Harold could fully let go of his past denunciations and forgive himself, for going on without Grace. It was not as if Finch had abandoned her, the generous genius supported her financially, unbeknownst to her, by guaranteeing that there would always be work for her. A penitent drop in the ocean of regret and self recrimination, that Harold was perpetually drowning in. Reese knew that the beautiful artist was only half the equation, as Finch had confessed to John that the numbers had haunted him; all those people he could not save. The CIA wet work, Reese had endured whilst killing himself inside, knowing that not all the people he had assassinated were traitors, had created an emphatic understanding linking the two broken men. At least by being brothers in arms, they had been able to forge on, complementing and supporting each other through an unshakeable bond.

“Good evening Mr Finch,” Reese said suavely, as he sidled up to Finch. Bear wagged his tail ecstatically, at the sight of his alpha.  
“Good evening Mr Reese. I trust all is well with our number. I have brought Mr Martin additional insulin,” Harold remarked. Handing John the paper bag, that he had been carrying.  
“Thanks. Our student is recovering from his busy day, I left him sleeping, he looked exhausted, I doubt a freight train will wake him! He just used the last dose, so I'll make sure he gets this. He'll be asleep for hours, lets have a drink.”  
John smiled warmly at Harold, which the latter returned with a shy upturn of the mouth in response.  
Finch adored his friend's smile, it made his heart melt and chased the cold night chill away, thoroughly heating things up.

The older man, nodded his acquiescence and suddenly blushed. Fondly reminiscing about a previous time, that his dear cohort had insisted they go for a drink. Although the circumstances leading to this had been upsetting, Finch had appreciated John's tender concern and need, to help him overcome his fears. Miss Groves unsettled him, even now and her disturbing, almost telepathic relationship with his machine. However he was proud of its survival instinct, he felt hurt that it had such a close connection with another, especially one who was unbalanced to put it mildly. He worried, that this was unfathomably dangerous and had sleepless nights, fretting about the uncertain future. Their diverse, powerful enemies were growing and they may well completely conquer. 

“Why Finch, I do believe you are blushing like a school girl!”  
“I am certainly not Mr Reese!” Harold fired back in an indignant tone. Desperately wanting the earth to open up and swallow his embarrassed self this instant.  
“I thought you said that you would never lie to me!” John laughed, as Finch shot him a narrow eyed withering glance.  
“Yes, 'cause that joke never gets old!” Harold drily quipped, as he gently tugged Bear's lead to reconvene their evening walk. 

Reese gazed at his associate and despairingly hoped, that they would have many more times like these. Relishing the teasing, blessed escape from loneliness and homecoming that this wonderful man embodied. Preempting the city's inclement weather, that changed nearly as often as Finch's wardrobe, John quickly produced a large umbrella, that he proceeded to unfurl. Just before the heavens opened, the mature man found himself, nimbly enveloped under a black fabric canopy. John stuck like glue by his side, one arm holding the umbrella, the other protectively wrapped around his partner's back. A welcome source of warmth and reassurance. Touching shoulders and closely moving as one, as the more able male compensated accordingly, to match his friend's claudication. Both savoring, the grateful ease of their communion and how opposites so irresistibly attract.


	3. Breakfast

John poured himself a strong black coffee, from the still scalding hot pot. Placed a second round of toast in the rack, that he was juggling along with a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Finch had keenly devoured the Eggs Benedict, that Reese had magicked up, from the well stocked safe house's kitchen. They had intended to venture out for breakfast, but Antony like any student, was obligatorily not an early riser. Considering his eventful day yesterday, Harold thought it best, that they let him lie in. John quietly filled up the dining room table, with his bounty and assiduously, cleared away the dirty plates. “Thank you Mr Reese, that was delicious, as always.” Then Harold's eyes lit up, when he spied the bread: “Green olive?” Reese confirmed, with a slight nod and demure smile. Finch helped himself to a generous slice and spread a heap of honey butter on it, increasing his cholesterol intake by a dramatic amount, but some delectables were more than worth the coronary risk; he could afford the best cardiac-thoracic surgeon anyway!

Reese poured, some freshly brewed green tea for Finch and gratefully accepted the proffered New York Times Sports supplement from him, as he settled back down. Harold perused, the Arts section with interest. “Aahh there is a new production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, on at Park Avenue Armory, we could go see that when we have concluded our business.”  
John heaved, a long suffering sigh. “Didn't we just see John Lithgow's King Lear, in Central Park Finch? There is such a thing as Shakespeare overload!”  
Harold darted a wounded look at his partner. “That was in August! Two seasons ago...and there is certainly no such condition Mr Reese!”  
“I don't know Harold, I think it's time we take in a game. Shame it's the baseball off-season, it's ages since we had time to go see the Mets. What about the Knicks at Madison Square Garden next weekend? I'm sure you can get tickets, or maybe I could give Logan a call?” John added with a mischievous glint in his eyes.  
Harold's glare, threw daggers at his right hand man. Although he secretly enjoyed, their verbal sparring and it was always amicably resolved. The mention of Mr Pierce, did stir an uneasy feeling of jealousy and made him want to growl a fierce warning for all to hear, emphasizing that John belonged to him.  
Antony chose that moment, to surface and appeared in the hallway, facing his rescuers who were seated, in the open plan area directly in front of him. “We'll talk about this later John.” Efficaciously closing, the subject of their personal life for now, like snapping a book shut. The computer expert, was once again focused, on the many case related tasks at hand and professionally resumed their work.

Fusco had turned up nothing, but Carter had discovered the abandoned van, in the environs of Rego Park. She was checking out a lead and called to say, that she would enlighten them later. Reese had offered their number an array of breakfasting options, but the student just wanted a coffee. Antony still appeared drawn and on edge. Finch attempted to convince the young man, that they would identify who was behind this.

Suddenly the front door burst open and Shaw came hurtling through it, piggy backed on top of a 6 foot 3 tall Caucasian man. Regardless of her small build, she had the male pulverized, between her strong thighs and violently kicked off, whilst slugging the Goliath with her gun, hard on the back of his head with a skull fracturing blow. “When you two are quite finished playing house, I just got one in the stairwell and we have six more on the way,” Shaw spat out. Expeditiously brushing herself off and making eye contact with a highly alarmed Finch. Reese immediately drew his weapon in a fluid motion. He then wore the mask of a cool, highly dangerous Government trained assassin, who would do whatever needed to be done to defend his unit.

“But how come, the camera pick-ups and alarms did not...oh no they have been bypassed and put on a loop. But that could only have been accomplished, by rewiring the hardline circuit motherboard within the apartment,” Harold fired his words out at machine gun speed, indicating his panic and confusion. His fingers were tapping furiously at his laptop, as he tried to decipher what had gone so drastically wrong and establish an effective escape plan. Now that he had dismantled the breach, he could see how dire their situation was, as the sheer number of combatants converging on their position became evident.

“Yes that would be down to me, I am afraid,” Antony said almost apologetically. He was now sinisterly standing at Finch's side, with a gun pointed at the older man's head. Wafting his free hand to indicate the direction, where he wanted weapons thrown, which was duly abided by.  
Harold gasped with shock and considered this more evidence, of why human interaction was best left to other people. The human heart with all its complexities and mankind's often deceitful nature, would never cease to surprise him. John looked disgusted and resigned; yet his brain was tirelessly working, through all avenues of possibilities to rectify this monumental screw up.  
“We were not followed here and you were covered up all the way...so where is your tracking chip?” Reese asked with a sneer. His exterior appeared cool and collected, however his insides were churning up. The sight of anyone pointing a gun at his partner's head, left him raging and sick to the stomach with fear. He along with Shaw held up their now empty hands, in a conciliatory gesture.  
“Very good! I have a gucometer that uses RFID to administer insulin, but mine has a specially adapted antenna and chip, omitting a homing signal that would make Q jealous! I'm not even diabetic, but you have to cover all bases these days, to maintain a deep cover. It takes increasingly inventive ways, to circumvent cell data jammers, beat bluetooth blockers and bug detection scanners. Uncle will be here soon and then, we can really get this party started.” The young antagonist smiled tightly.

Abruptly an alarming whirring noise, cut through the stunned silence in the room, as feedback sounded through the laptop speakers. Finch had managed to reroute a foyer floor sensor, that had been set off, unwittingly by one of the advancing agent army. Distracting Antony for a split second who looked at the source of the loud din, but that was all John needed to launch himself at the former student. Reese crushed Martin's fingers and squeezed his hand in a vice-like bone breaking grip, pulling his arm round in a wide arc as he disassembled the pistol in mid air. The gun clip dropped to the ground, just before Antony sank to his knees, hugging his hand and crying out in agonizing pain. John's ruthlessly merciless chop to the back of his head, was the last thing he felt before unconsciousness claimed him.

Reese stepped around the dropped body with distaste, picking up the weapon during his manoeuvre. Another one to be added to the depressing tally of perpetrators versus victims, the depravity and duplicity of people was sadly inevitable.  
“Harold, you need to get out of here, we don't have much time,” the ex-CIA Agent clearly stated, whilst making eye contact with his partner.  
“We need to John,” the billionaire corrected him, with a worried look.  
“Go now Harold, I'll hold them off, give you as long as I can. Shaw will protect you.” There was steel in his voice, making no brook for argument. His gaze locked with Finch's; they stood there for what seemed like an eternity, fighting a wordless battle, conveying all their feelings and fears. One determined to stay, to be the last line of defense between the enemy and his best friend. The other silently pleading his heart's desire to leave with them, as he needed John to be safe as well or would rather die. Reese in that moment understood, why history was littered with the corpses of successful duos like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid; who would rather go out together in a blaze of glory, than be the one left behind. He was all too aware of survivor's guilt from returning from numerous wars, where close comrades did not and living on after Jess. He was not suicidal anymore, as Finch had cured that and he hoped to not die here. Particularly as he wanted to continue, to shield his consort and alter ego. John dearly hoped that if he fell here today, that Harold would survive and deal with the loss, he was far stronger than the old soldier believed himself to be, given that unendurable situation.

“Please John,” Harold unashamedly resorted to outright begging, in his desperation to make the other see sense. He could not endure without his loyal, brave and noble-hearted partner. Friendship and brotherly love, had instinctively developed and transcended all platonic barriers. He could not lose the possibility, that they would never go beyond that unexpressed state; as ultimately after they had finished their healing atonement, they were bound to discover heaven together. They were meant to be a couple, they both intimately knew it and just had not had the time, to cement their union. Bosom buddies who were parts of the same soul, that were united in their just cause and whose hearts truly beat for each other. How could he make the stubborn, ex-Green Beret see sense? This was their destiny and their final destination, could only be reached hand in hand. He felt like Sam begging his Frodo: “Don't go where I can't follow!” Certainly not into a seemingly abject battle, that will likely result in John's death. Harold wanted to stay here and help his friend, if the latter would not leave, but he knew the futility of this. Even if Reese would acquiesce, Finch was hopeless in the trenches, as he was not a trained combatant, just 'a middle-aged cripple.' He might as well sign their death warrants from the outset, as he would get them both killed all the quicker, when he inevitably got in the way.  
“If you won't come, then we all stay,” Harold cried, in a panicked tone. 

A sorrowful Finch, firmly grasped John's arm trying to pull him towards the exit. Reese was an immoveable object, standing his ground, looking apologetically at his boss. Neither knew who had initiated it, but the two men were suddenly locked in a tight embrace, trying to crush away the moments wasted and likely to never come again. The desolation of the situation, tinging this momentous landmark, that was their first real hug and heart-breakingly could be their last. Their gasping breaths, coming out as short as their time together.

John forced himself to pull away, ignoring the tears in his own eyes and his partner's wetness, reflected back at him. Harold still clung to his love's lower arms, beseeching him to depart. When the veteran steadfastly shook his head, the software engineer tried appeasing him: “Fine if you won't see sense, then Shaw at least remains with you.”

“Shaw, now!” John demanded, hurt and full of emotion. Fixedly staring at his other team member, who had been hastily retrieving the arsenal, after searching their victim for more weapons. They had in a maudlin moment, after working together for a while, hatched a plan what to do in such a scenario. A pact to get Harold to safety, no matter what his wishes to the contrary were. Without warning, a distraught Finch felt the sting of a needle prick hit his neck and an ever crumbling world, faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quoted from J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of The Rings, The Two Towers.


	4. Attack

John reflexively caught Harold, before he crumpled to the floor and lightly cradled him in his strong arms. “I didn't say, give him a knock out dose Shaw,” Reese spat out, through gritted teeth.  
“Well I could have tasered him, would you have preferred that?” Matching glares with her male counterpart. “Anyway, how else was I going to prise him away? Trust me, I am a doctor! I feel like I'm breaking up Romeo and Juliet here! You know, I can stay, you take Finch.”

As they were arguing, Sameen fetched the wheelchair from the closet and John deposited his precious load into it. Every eventuality was catered for at this refuge, as there were a comprehensive range of medical supplies and equipment. Unfortunately there was more often than not a necessity for these, as any retreat to this stronghold usually involved an injured party needing care. 

They shared a look, that spoke volumes. The ex-CIA Agent, was steadfast in his resolve and Shaw respected his determination. Reese lithely moved over to the bookcase, resting against the far wall of the sitting area. He half pulled out three of the books in the correct sequence, to reveal the secret door that seamlessly hid the cavity within. Shaw pushed the chair with a slumped Harold, over to the panic room. John stole one last adoring, grateful glimpse of his sleeping beauty as he silently bade him farewell; pushing the steel door shut behind them with lightning speed, leaving no clue as to what lay behind the mass of reading matter.

Utilizing his gun to smash his phone and ear piece, then finally punching in the destruct code to completely wipe the laptop, thus severing all work ties. He knew that Shaw would have used her palm print and retinal scan to override the door, so only authorized users could release it. Moving the books would not open it now, only the control panel hidden behind the shelf, unlocked in the same way it had been sealed. John could have followed his allies and gone for escape. However hiding and running away was not his style, he would much rather turn and face the enemy. Besides you should never walk away from a trap if you can help it, as another one will be set and from that you may not pass go. Resolutely he would buy his friends some time to flee, then he was certain that Harold would be able to take suitable counter measures, to identify and neutralize the threat. 

Turning the Sig-Sauer P226R in his hand to get a comfortable grip, he picked up his spare weapons and artillery bag. Adeptly moving to squat behind a sturdy antique, bronze lead-lined sideboard, in a position affording him cover and setting the front door in his sights. He inhaled a soothing breath, to tamper down the adrenalin coursing through his veins, at the prospect of impending action. His life affirming expiration, exhaled at the exact moment the whole room exploded.

soulsoulsoulsoul

Shaw doggedly transported a still passed out Finch, through the hideaway into the emergency elevator, that led to the underground parking garage. Remorselessly dispatching two hired guns, who were watching the car. She bundled her boss, into the Lincoln town-car and sped off up the exit ramp. 

Harold awoke with a start, in the back of his speeding car and slowly shook his head, to clear away the fuzziness that was clogging up his senses. The actuality of the situation, dawning on him with fearful clarity. 'Must save John,' was the first thought that echoed around his mind.  
“YOU drugged me! What's happening Ms Shaw? Why are you taking us out of the city?”  
The once ISA operative, glanced up at Finch through the rear view mirror. “We need to get holed up somewhere safe, better to put distance between us and the Rentakills trying to off you.”  
The older man, attempted to clamp down the rising panic that was starting to swamp him. Scanning the car's interior, he realized that his laptop was nowhere to be seen.  
“Where's my laptop?” Harold asked with trepidation.  
“I couldn't carry it, we needed to move as light as possible. I had my hardware that was more important.” Fingering (in her mind's eye) her favored H&K USP Compact in .45ACP with laser aiming module, as she spoke.  
“What! You left it there? How am I supposed to monitor the situation and help Mr Reese? We need to get to the library.”  
“We are not turning back. I didn't pack a picnic hamper either, I was too busy saving your sorry ass. If you hadn't been so caught up with cuddling your guard dog, you might have had the wherewithal to grab the damn thing!” Anger breaching her usual flat affect, as she spat out her words, like venom from a spitting cobra.  
A taken aback Harold, snapped back with: “Your attitude offends me, Ms Shaw. I reiterate, turn this vehicle around this instant.” His affronted tone, leaving no room for argument.  
“I am following Reese's final wishes, to get you to safety.” She did not understand his reticence. Her self diagnosed Axis II Personality Disorder, made empathy difficult to say the least.  
“I am your employer Shaw, so unless you want a severance package now, you will respect my wishes immediately. I would also appreciate, that you desist from talking as if John is dead.” His icy tone wavered at the end, as he choked with emotion on the last word.  
“I made a promise to him and I never go back on my word.” She retaliated.  
Finch was seething, but realized the futility of trying to reason with her. He turned his attention to his smart-phone and mentally opened his: 'Plan B' bag, as he dexterously keyed commands into his cell.

brosbrosbrosbros

The whole building's foundations seemed to shake, like an earthquake was trying to eat it up. John was thrown back by the deafening blast, that ripped the front door off its hinges. Lifting himself up, he hurriedly grabbed a gas mask from his stash, placing the breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose. Thankfully blocking out the acrid smell of burning, that was assaulting his nostrils. Aptly timed as at that moment, tear gas grenades flooded the room with their noxious loads, blanketing the proximate area in a pea soup fog.

Steeling his indomitable will, Reese braced himself for the firefight to come. He easily picked off two uninvited guests, like shooting fish in a barrel. Firing to kill, quick and deadly, as the stakes were too high for anything else. The other four heavily armed and body armor clad thugs, that replaced them were tougher to pin down. The poor visibility, owing to the tendrils of smoke in his immediate space were doing him no favors. Turning to his sub-machine gun he attempted to hit anything, via random spread fire in the direction of the combatants. Two were almost overrunning his defensive position, behind the bullet absorbing heavy duty furniture. 

Agony then hit Reese, as a bullet tore through his leg, viciously shredding a ligament and slicing an artery. Gritting his teeth, he forced the feeling of pain out of his mind. He did not have time to focus on that, but rather the hulk of muscle that abruptly came barreling into him like a bulldozer. John brutally managed to push him off, but another insurgent grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms back and causing him to wince in pain. Putting into effect his vast close-quarters battle experience, he turned the other man's strength against him. Pivoting around he broke free, flipping him, then delivering a knock-out blow, that any prize fighter would have been proud of. The other briefly felled behemoth, decided at that instant to mistake Reese's injured leg for a pinata, as he pitilessly beat it with shovel hands. Luckily John had a high tolerance for pain, as he headbutted the colossus and terminated the onslaught. Displacing his mask during the tussle, but fortuitously the gases had dissipated at this period.

Bouncing back, from the painful sensation and courageously maintaining fight mode, John channeled his inner warrior. Making the couple of attackers bounding round the corner, feel like they were facing off with the undefeated champion of a first person shooter game, as they were wiped out in a barrage of gunfire. 

More goons converged, on his orientation and he was starting to be disheartened. Then in a totally inappropriate instant of whimsy, he sympathized with Neo, when facing down Agent Smith and all the other agents that infinitely kept coming, regardless of how many were dispatched. He was generally not a science fiction fan, but Finch had wanted to see The Matrix, on Cult Classic Movie Night at Cinema Village. Relieved that this was a reprieve, from reading subtitles on foreign movies, he had readily agreed with his friend. Forcing himself back to the present, he savagely stamped on his cherished castle in the air. As now was not the time to lose himself in a priceless memory, irrespective of how much he wanted to. 

Overwhelming numbers, were taking their toll and blood loss was draining his strength. He had not had a minute, to stem the flow and was now paying the cost, as he swayed minutely. Four opponents were forming a double envelopment around him, which he was trying to dispel with diminishing ammunition. Refusing to be dispirited but remain a bastion, he determinedly emptied his last clip, scoring a satisfying hit, as a giant stumbled to the floor with a neck wound. He reached for a pair of hand grenades, balancing them in each hand, willing to uphold his defense and drive danger away. He stroked the firing pins, ready to pull them out, as he waited to be completely swallowed up by the opposition. 

Moving into the doorway, casting a shadow like a harbinger of doom, an authoritative, impeccably suit-appareled figure now stood. A wolfish grin spread across his superior countenance, as he appraised the state of affairs. This disciplined gentleman, pervaded arrogance and a ruthless cunning. “Hello John, are you ready to come out to play?”  
Reese turned, towards the direction of the velvet voice that floated towards him, like some malevolent spirit. Curiously taking in, the appearance of former MI6 spy, Alistair Wesley.


	5. Persuasion

“Seriously Finch?! You've got to be kidding me!” Shaw grinded out, with disbelief and barely contained contempt. Looking at the reflection, of a police patrol vehicle's flashing light in the car mirror. The short burst of a siren sounded, indicating that Sameen was required to pull over. She considered her options, but duteously parked up, watching with hooded eyes as a uniformed Carter, confidently strode up to the driver's window. Shaw admired the demoted detective and did not want to shoot her, which would usually have been her go to solution. People tended to hold personal grudges if you put holes in them, having Carter upset with her, was not Sameen's first choice. The onetime US Army Warrant Officer, was tenacious and would make a formidable opponent; Shaw was glad that they were on the same side. Intending to remain on good terms with the officer, the past marine flashed a scowl at Finch, then stoically turned to face Joss.

Harold appeared sheepish, but was overpoweringly relieved to gain back-up from Carter. He did not fear that Shaw would hurt him, but time was short and he hoped that the persuasive cop, could convince his stubborn employee that returning to base was the only option. Finch had relayed his GPS co-ordinates and activated the 4G Wi-Fi in the Lincoln, so that Joss could use a detector, to pinpoint the route. Fusco and a SWAT team had been dispatched to the safe house, thanks to an anonymous call detailing shots fired, well that is what the official report would state. The feelings of desperation and suffocating fearfulness for John, were by now ratcheted up to unbearable levels. He had to equably ensconce himself in his technological cocoon, as this was what would provide the resolution. Hope had to be clinged to, as that was all he had; but his cruel interior monologue was trying to tell him that it was too late, that his partner was already dead. Prevailing over this strangling anxiety, was a war that he was losing.

Detective Fusco's breathless voice chose that moment to boom out via speaker phone, providing a welcome distraction from the awkward scenario that was playing out. “The whole place is deserted. Looks like Wonder Boy went postal! Judging by the high body count, he makes Rambo look like a Girl Guide!”  
The overwrought mastermind waited, restrained and imploring that John was not one of the deceased; however something was telling him that his friend had not expired, he was certain that he would know if his hero had been murdered. They were so close, that the two oddfellows had a psychic connection, that sensed when the other was in mortal danger, with or without the comm link. It was as if the communication device had taken on a life of its own and become embedded in their souls. Harold was certain that if John had passed, then the genius would have been struck down by a precognitive, sort of extrasensory perception, that would have screamed at him, that he had lost the love of his life. How could he not feel such a devastating loss? Losing his avenging angel would cause a cosmic cataclysm, as this machine-maker, would stop at nothing to unleash righteous retribution on the heinous who had committed this maleficent sin.

'How, or by what means, he was connected with the great event foretold in the Apocalypse he did not know, but he did not doubt that connection for a moment.'  
Tolstoy's War and Peace occupied his cerebration, as whenever troubled he predominantly sought solace in literature. However this provided little comfort now, from a catastrophe, too epic in its proportions to even be fathomed. Harold would not care for a world that had taken away everything from him, John's loss would mark the end of days. He had told John once, that before 911, the pursuit of wealth had consumed him and he had not wanted to involve himself with human affairs, as IT had always made more sense. Then Nathan's dying had been such a shock to his system, that he had had to make amends, by continuing with his friend's work. Immersing himself in rescuing those in need and burying his brokenheartedness. His erstwhile CIA Agent, was more indispensable than anything even: 'The List.' He had afterall, solicited John to depart that infamous bank to avoid the Feds, leaving Abby and Shayn behind if they had wanted to stay. All that mattered was his mate coming home, not some albeit well intentioned bank robbers, who may unfortunately die trying at the hands of Chapple's goons.

Lionel's surplus ironic commentary, snapped Finch back to the present. “No tall, dark and fearsome! So at least he is among the living, although I have no clue where. There is a lot of blood and there is a trail, as if someone injured was dragged out. No sign of that Martin kid either.”

Finch was sickened at the mental image of a bleeding John being captured, as this was the only logical deduction, because if he had escaped he would have been in touch. It was that parking garage all over again, fighting to keep back the tears when Reese had tried to say farewell. Harold was now, just as then determined to 'march into hell for a heavenly cause.' He would get John back, without regard to what happens.

“You need to turn the car around Shaw, unless you want me to arrest you for kidnapping and false imprisonment.” Carter stared a defiant Sameen down.  
“Fine, have it your way! I am sick of all your belly aching anyway,” Shaw snorted.  
Finch filtered the rest of the banter out, as relief rushed over him that no more time would be wasted. That they were heading to his nerve center, where his computers would assist him to detect John.

matesmatesmatesmates

“Are you going to make this easy for both of us? Wesley stared at Reese, with a mephistophelian glint in his eye. The veteran looked blankly back at his captor, staying quiet.  
“I used to be like you John, the good government agent, risking my life for inept civil servants. Then I was enlightened, to the fact that the nexus of influence has shifted, there is a new supremacy who are ruling under the radar. If you are smart like me, then you will want to be on the right side, when the seismic putsch occurs. You can also be in the winning league, my employer appreciates those with proficient skills. Now, tell me about your current boss.”  
“I have nothing to say,” John answered back defiantly. He had been knocked out and taken to an isolated warehouse, as it invariably was the case. The frequency this happened to him was almost humorous. There must be a thriving black market, for unscrupulous real estate agents or abandoned depot hunters, marketing them to gangsters and nefarious villains. Whose purchase, would have to be in the right location for their wicked deeds, somewhere isolated and spacious, for all their interrogation needs. They were sat in a dingy room, facing off across a table, like two opposing sides of a chess game.  
“Take him away. I'll be seeing you Reese!” The Englishman promised with an ominous edge, as a bleeding and weakening man in a suit, was hauled up by four burly confederates. 

Reese was taken to a claustrophobic basement, blindingly dark as there were no windows. It was soiled and full of rats that he could hear squeaking in the pitch-black. The stench of rotting flesh and putrid filth filled his nostrils. He was beaten by the guards and roughly stripped naked. Harshly dragged over to a massive structure and unceremoniously hurled in. John hit the deep water contained within feet first; the glacial coldness of the liquid made him gasp like a flapping fish. Causing him to swallow, huge mouthfuls of impure fluid and start to sink like a stone. Then his field training embedded in him reawakened, he gained control and pushed himself back up to the surface.

At that second, there was a loud crash and his water-world was plunged into blackness, as the tank's lid was slammed down on it. He tried to find his inner placidity and was almost succeeding, then he heard the top being bolted down. Reese considered with detachment the torture techniques of British Intelligence. Their love of 'hot' and 'cold' as well as 'wet' and 'dry.' Recalling a time when the SAS had been working an op with his unit in Tikrit, creatively retrieving enemy encampment co-ordinates from Al-Qaeda terrorists, that had been instrumental in rescuing some American POWs. A formidable bunch of soldiers like those, would have trained the club of British Secret Service Agents that Wesley used to belong to. Knowing what was to come did not really help that much, all he could do was focus on escape and getting back to Harold. His heart soared just thinking of his boss, wanting to hold him and savor his touch. Bravely vowing to reveal his heart's desire, to his reclusive billionaire if they were ever reunited. Hoping that his passion was reciprocated; not just friendship, but volcanic hot, all-consuming love as well.

There was still air at the top of the container, but this was now beginning to rapidly disappear. Reese grimly realized, that there was a pipe at the bottom of the receptacle which was filling it up. One of his fan-club had turned on the faucet. He was good at holding his breath for long periods, but he could not maintain it forever. It was impossible to escape, the ascending water eventually found its way in and he impassively embraced the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '...march into hell for a heavenly cause,'  
> quoted from: 'The Impossible Dream' song, from Man of La Mancha.


	6. Hope

Finch was back in his lair, frenziedly pursuing all leads and attempting to locate the one closest to his heart. Bear was worriedly whining, sensing his master's distress and mirroring it with his own. Harold would have offered words of comfort, on what was now starting to become a distressingly regular happening, but the sickening fright that consumed him had stolen his voice.

He had tried John's cell, even though he knew it was futile; but just in case Reese had been interrupted mid strike before he could totally decimate it, anything was worth a shot. If only his partner had let him plant tracking devices on him, but he had only allowed his cell as a means of triangulating his position. Then if John was cornered he could destroy it, so there would be no trail of breadcrumbs leading back to Harold. They had had many heated debates about this, especially as the genius knew that his associate had tracked him. The software writer indignantly pointed out, that he thought this was a double standard if he could not do the same. Finch knew how Root taking him twice had affected Reese, as much as himself if not more so. The older man had relented to not look for any transponders, to appease the younger one, as he never wanted to cause John more reason to worry. Harold knew with dread, that he would never forgive himself if the veteran's concern for his friend's life, caused distraction resulting in severe injury or God forbid, Reese's death in the field.

The recluse had in the beginning, tried hiding tracking chips in a myriad of places, including the hem of John's trousers, his jacket and in cover driving licenses. Even in the DLC Patriot, Harold had gifted him for Christmas, as that was the watch that his companion liked and wanted. The billionaire had unconsciously craved to exceed Logan's generosity, to immaturely show that he loved his protector more! However John had found all the lo-jacks and been furious, he had hotly explained that if he was captured, then they could lead back to the genius. Finch had been affronted, that Reese would think that this would be possible, but the argument that Root almost breached his security system was a sore point. The computer designer had to reluctantly accept, that if any of the bugs were found for example by the FBI, then it would be difficult to maintain an innocent cover identity.

Now Harold was silently cursing the fact that there was no GPS, all the cameras had been taken off-line and the data corrupted by a vicious worm that would take ages to rectify, time he feared that John did not have. Then like a lightning bolt hitting him, inspiration struck; a true Eureka moment, that had him pulling up streams of code and organizing multi-strands of data to uncover his partner.

lovelovelovelove

John came to on a mattress, in a semi-dark, musty room, that although not going to win a Good Housekeeping award was better than the armpit he had been in before. A raggedy throw had been dumped on top of him, that was doing little to warm his trembling frame. His sopping wet hair and damp body was sticking to the boggy fabric underneath him. He could hear raised voices from the other side of the room, one of them he recognized as the number formerly know as Antony Martin.

“You were not supposed to practically kill him. Uncle will be displeased if he does not reveal the location of his boss.” Martin shouted at a large guard, that had been part of the earlier meet and greet.  
“It was like drowning a kitten, anyway he'll live!” The aggressor retaliated with a heartless sneer.  
Reese kept quiet and pretended to be asleep, awaiting an opportunity to make a break for it.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Another opponent appeared roughly pulling the cover off John and flipping him off the makeshift bed onto the grubby floor. Reese tumbled onto the ground, still maintaining his unconscious subterfuge.  
“Is sleeping beauty cold? Coz I have just the thing here to heat you up! Better than a kiss!” Prince Charming then anointed Reese with a few drops of hot oil on his bare chest. That caused John to react with pain, as the spots where the liquid hit were now turning his flesh to blubber. Reese used his last reserves of strength to roll out of the way of any more punishment and kick at the man towering above him. The guard was caught by surprise and fell back screaming, as he fittingly splashed himself with his dangerous load. 

John summarily stamped on the felled brute's head, which unleashed a crack that seemed to split the room. Disappointed to find no gun, the veteran improvised, by prying the vat of steaming oil from the fiend's fingers and turning to face the approaching men. Waving the dipper madly around, encouraged the other two assailants to keep their distance. Reese demanded their weapons, which Antony unhesitatingly complied with, as he was in the immediate line of fire. The other man tried to be a hero, there was always one John thought as he struck out at his attacker, sloshing the oil over the side onto the thug's hand. Deriving satisfaction from hearing the man's cries, proving that this half drowned kitten still had claws! The ex-Ranger perused Martin, judging him to be close in height and for that reason was ordered to drop his jeans.

“What?!” Antony squealed, turning a shade of beetroot red.  
“Just do it! Also take off your shoes, then drop them in front of me. Don't try anything funny, or I will batter and deep fry you!” Reese promised, with a scornful leer. Martin was not amused by the gallows humor, but obeyed albeit unwillingly.

Moments later, John was half dressed, as he could not bear to have any material near his blistering and seeping wound, so remained shirtless. He ordered the other goon to unlock the door, then shoved him backwards towards Antony, who was cowering in the shadows looking embarrassed. John slammed and locked the door behind him; turning to run and nearly colliding with Shaw, who was careering around the corner.

“What the hell?!” John exclaimed, with shock and rapidly rising anger.  
“Nice to see you too Reese. Digging the wet look!” Sameen failed to lighten the unbelievably tense atmosphere. Grimacing as she defensively explained, that she was just following orders. Reese interjected with hard fury, that she had made an oath to him and that he thought that she: “...Had had honor, but was obviously wrong!”  
Shaw angrily informed him that: “If I had a dick, this is where I would tell you to suck it!"  
“Tell me he is not here!” Reese used a chilling tone, that made Shaw very nearly shudder and fear for her life, if she did not give the answer that he wanted. She unconsciously took a step back, to give herself a head start as she answered.  
“I told him to stay away! He said he would wait in the car.” Her voice fell away as she said the last part. Avoiding John's deadly stare and putting more distance between them, as she cleared the way ahead.

“John!” Harold's emotive voice perforated the air and turned into a sob, as he rushed over to his partner, with a happy Bear close by. “Oh my God! What have they done to you?” His face a picture of horror, as he tentatively reached out to touch John's shoulders. Sorrowfully appraising, the damage done to his friend's chest and bleeding leg.  
“I'm all right Harold. But you shouldn't have come here! How did you even find this place?” John placed his hands on top of his partner's, cozily clasping them, trying to physically stop his fretting.  
“You are certainly not all right, Mr Reese!” Reverting to formality to distance himself, from the over-emotional state into which he had fallen. He tried to regain control of his stuttering breathing and restart his heart that had stopped, the instant he had caught sight of John.  
“I hacked the tracking chip, in Mr Martin's artificial diabetic glucometer. We were lucky, that he was more Johnny English than James Bond! Oh John, I am so unreservedly pleased to see you!” Choking up on his words, as tears of relief filled his eyes. This was echoed back in the ex-Agent's look, as he tenderly moved his left hand to cup the older man's cheek, using his thumb to lightly sweep away a falling tear that had managed to escape. John smiled at his boss and Harold shyly returned it. They were both still painfully aware, that they were not out of the woods yet and each resumed praying, that the other would survive this. The taller man lowered his head, letting his forehead drop to meet Harold's in mutual appreciation, that the other was still alive.

“Hate to break up this Hallmark moment, but we need to move!” Shaw reminded them as she scanned their surroundings, ready to eliminate any threats.  
“You're absolutely right Ms Shaw.” Finch forced himself to wake from this beautiful dream, that had delivered his soul mate alive. John protectively, rested his arm around Harold's shoulders and slightly moved ahead of him, shielding him as much as he could with his body from any danger. Off once more to tilt at windmills, Finch morbidly thought, although their enemies were regrettably all too real.


	7. Destiny

John quickly pulled the belt, from his newly acquired jeans and tightened it around his leg. Belatedly stemming the blood flow, that was starting to pump more freely now that he was warming up. Harold watched him with haunted eyes, reminded of another time when his partner had needed this emergency measure. Pulsating with adrenalin and fear, as he pushed a dying friend on a gurney, willing to pay any price to guarantee his recovery. Scared that Doctor Madani, would refuse to get involved and unbelievably relieved, when hope was not snatched away. Licking his desert dry lips and daring to believe, that the darkest day had still yet to dawn, in that icebox of a morgue.

The small group moved as stealthily as they could, but John was getting weaker and his limping was more pronounced, even more so than his crippled friend's. Harold kept darting worried looks at his former government operative, as he clung to him, supporting more of his weight with each passing step. 

“I am getting blood all over your suit, sorry!” Reese lovingly looked at the older man, as he attempted to counter balance his shuffle, by repositioning his weight onto his other good leg.  
“No need to apologize, Mr Reese. It's not much further now. Keep moving.” The please was unspoken, but heard anyway, by the ex-CIA man who gave a fleeting smile, as he purposefully willed himself on. 

“Leaving so soon? But we were just getting to know each other! Well John, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?”  
Wesley's cut glass enunciation, sliced through the air. He appeared like an angel of death, looming in the passageway ahead. A recently disarmed Shaw, was roughly shoved back towards her male colleagues, whilst Bear savagely barked and growled. John quietened him with a Dutch command, as the alpha did not wish to see the loyal canine be shot, by the armed force that had surrounded them. It would be ineffectual to resist at this time, so Reese did as they motioned him to, namely threw down his weapons and raised his hands. Harold was frozen to the spot, mouth agape and sharing strength with John, as they traded looks.

“You are the boss, I presume?!” Alistair locked eyes with the genius, who unfalteringly met his invasive gaze.  
John tactically maneuvered in front of Harold, effectively cutting off the ex-MI6 Agent's scrutiny.  
“Oh John Reese, you do have an annoying habit of habitually getting in my way! Now the time has come, to sacrifice my pawn. I do believe that I am rather going to enjoy this!” Wesley grinned demonically, whilst aiming his pistol and fired.

The speed of time reverted to slow motion, as Finch helplessly watched the bullet's trajectory, only ending its unstoppable flight, once it had reached its barely moving target. Harold's visage was a mask of horror and heart wrenching sorrow, as he saw the most important person in the world to him, get shot before his rapidly tearing eyes.  
“Noooooooooooooooooooo!” Finch screamed in an almighty denial, as he desperately reached out to John who was starting to fall backwards. Clinging to him, as if he could imbibe some life force into the dying man; a shaking genius, barely managed to slow his associate's descent to the floor. 

The bullet was lodged, in Reese's gut and blood was pooling on his stomach. He was weakening by the second, but needed to say goodbye to his beloved boss one last time. Attempting to convey the enormous gratitude that he felt, that he had been given a second chance, to assist people and work with such an amazing brilliance. Harold was firmly yet gently cradling John in his lap, stroking his hair as he tried to offer words of comfort.  
“It'll be okay John. You just need to stay with me. Please John!” Finch gave his best friend a small shake, as his confidant's eyes fluttered and he was starting to lose consciousness.  
“Thanks for everything Harold. I'm sorry, I failed to keep you safe.” Reese's pain filled eyes searched Harold's, whose look reflected back all encompassing love and terror, that their partnership was going to end prematurely.  
“Nonsense John! You always protect me; I unceasingly apologize, for not being able to prevent you from getting hurt. Oh John, don't go!” The older man sobbed at the last part, as he could not bear to say 'die', because by speaking the word, gave it power and made the unbearable appear nearer. The billionaire sat there on the ground, lovingly holding his mate, with tears streaming down his face as he willed the other to stay alive.

Harold put pressure on the wound; fortunately the bullet had corked the trauma, so less blood was seeping out than if it had not been there. This was extremely difficult for the computer expert, as he had always been squeamish, but this was so much worse. Nothing could prepare him, for the gut wrenching and heart shattering sight of his soul mate's blood, draining away as quickly as his life. 

Reese was starting to go into shock, as his body was wracked with seismic spasms, twitching like he was possessed. Finch held onto his cherished love, rocked by the constrictions and physically willing John, to stay with him.  
“John! Stay awake, please!” Harold cried, as Reese was drifting further from him, as his life was ebbing away. Knowing that time was slipping through his fingers, like ethereal gas that he could not grasp, Finch wanted to reveal his heart's devotion, urgently despairing that he had to, before it was too late. He lowered his head to John's ear and whispered, so that only his loved one could hear. For this was private and was something he had been fantasizing of doing for so long. Although in his wet dreams, they were both in a bedroom, atop sensuous silk sheets, after they had made sweet love.  
“I love you, utterly and completely. More than anything or anyone, I have known or will ever know. You cannot die, as I will assuredly expire without you, my dearest John.” Finch both earnestly vowed, his unending devotedness and passionately ordered his love to live, for Harold's sake, if not the veteran's own.

The former Green Beret, after the violence of the contractions, could feel himself peacefully, getting light-headed and floating away. However upon hearing that heartfelt and honest confession, this halted his spirit's ascent from his body. He felt Harold's lips kiss his ear, after their spoken pledge of love, they could not help but physically demonstrate it. The ex-CIA Agent smiled, he was running on empty, but utilized exhaust fumes to open his eyes and behold his dear love. Alas Reese, was too debilitated to give voice to his reciprocity, so he poured all his emotions into his doting regard that said it all. Then this forlorn soldier, battle weary and attrited, lay down on the field of honor to await his destiny.

Harold sensed, his better half go limp and gave him a resolute shake. Hugging his darling John to him, breathing in his intoxicating smell of gun oil and manly musk.  
“No, John, wake up, please!” Pleading for all Finch was worth, whilst kissing his veteran's lips and dolefully feeling no breath. Shrieking in anguish and torment, as he was now relegated to a living hell. Weeping uncontrollably as all was lost, his home, his life, his everything, all gone. This was beyond endurance and pain, the only respite from it would be his own welcome death. A grieving Finch tried to keep hold of his dear John, but many arms, pulled the genius away and manhandled him out of reach. Bear was whining and dashed over to his master, lying down near him to provide warmth. Through Harold's haze of flowing tears, his last image was that of his partner's prone form, lying deathly still, engulfed by their allegiant dog.


	8. Loss

Harold let himself be pulled along by the henchmen, not caring about anything at that precise moment. How had the world not tipped off its axis? Nothing mattered anymore, as he had lost the foremost part of himself. He closed his eyes trying to shut away the pain, but it was to no avail, he just felt dead inside. Hollowed out like an avocado, that had been destoned, scraped out of its skin and was now turning a vile shade as it decayed. The pain and emptiness were a relentless deluge, that were killing him from the inside out. There could never be happiness again, only despair and palpable loss. The still crying genius was in a shocked daze, his rigid face set in a lamentably sad expression, as he was dragged this way and that like a lifeless rag doll.

Not even losing Nathan or Grace, had been as heart breaking or soul ruining, as the prospect of a life without John in it. He was mourning the good times, never to be repeated and the future shared experiences, that would never be. Constantly looking at all John's drying blood, on his hands and clothes was too much; and a tidal wave of nausea hit him. Suddenly he stopped dead, his body no longer able to stand the sick feeling and gut churning maelstrom, that was creating havoc within his organic composition. Painfully doubling over and emptying, the contents of his vortex mess of a stomach, all over the ground. Splattering a few of the nearer hired hands, with projectile vomit splash-back in the process. Harold was past caring and numbly did not even register, the slap of a disgruntled guard, who did not appreciate the disgusting excretion from his quivering wreck of a prisoner. 

Shaw looked at her broken boss, with something akin to pathos and pity. She had idly conjectured, how close Reese and Finch had been, suspecting that they were lovers, or if not they should be. There was an endless love and profound connection, between the two men that even robotic-like Sameen could sense. She commiserated with Harold, as she acutely knew the pain of losing a partner and would always think about Cole. The former ISA Agent was also sorry that John was dead, she would miss him in her own quiescent way. She had had high regard, for his hard-hitting modus operandi and always hated it, when a team member was killed.

Finch wanted to curl up, in a fetal position and cry until this bad dream ended. However the 6 foot tall thug, who abrasively pushed the older man forwards had other ideas, sending him sprawling into a wall of muscle, that continued guiding him to Purgatory itself, for all it concerned him. Oozing out of Harold's every pore, was a primal longing for John. Also inundating him was the feeling of being so awfully powerless, that with all his wealth, he could not attain the one thing, that he would give anything for, namely to have his partner breathe again. The usually mild mannered software engineer, then caught a glimpse of the atrocious devil, who had executed his love in cold blood. He boiled with rage and intense hatred, clenched his fists that urgently needed to squeeze the life out of the satanic scumbag, that had damned him to this hell on earth. Harold feebly struggled against his captors, trying to break free and charge at Wesley, but the former was swatted away like an insignificant fly. 

“Don't give him the satisfaction!” Sameen solemnly advised her employer, who was by now red faced with hellfire hot fury.  
Finch looked disbelievingly back at her, “I have never wished ill of anyone Ms Shaw, but that abominable bastard, I want to kill with my bare hands!”  
The ex-marine stared back open mouthed, at her typically aloof boss's colorful language and raw fervent need for retaliation.  
“It won't bring Reese back,” she soothed.  
“I know that!” Harold angrily snapped. “But that immoral son of a bitch does not get to live, when my partner is...” The mature man could not finish as he was overwhelmed with emotion, gasping and sobbing in equal measures. If he had had a gun at that moment, he would have shot Wesley and kept firing, until he had emptied the clip into his dying body. Alternatively Finch could keep one bullet back and turn the gun on himself, thus ending this agony of subsisting without his other half. Although what he suspected would stop him, if he ever got the chance to commit suicide, was thinking that Catholic raised John would not want him to do that. Respect and love for his glorious friend, would prevent him from taking his own life. However Harold knew that he would not be long for this world anyway, as his heart was so completely decimated, that it was slowing its faltering beat and would soon gratefully stop. Barely registering that they were being bundled up to the roof, so that they could be choppered out to God knows where; he just had to bide his time and make that sadistic Beelzebub pay!

Eventually the Cavalry in the form of the FBI and Interpol charged the warehouse, but it was a case of too little too late as far as Finch was concerned. He thought that he had planned for every contingency, but he had been wrong and this had cost him his true love's life. Catching hateful sight of Wesley, before he scuttled off to escape the flashing search lights of the incoming law enforcement agencies, Harold cast a look of unsurpassed loathing at that cowardly abomination.

Disinterestedly he allowed Shaw to escort him to the darkened edge of the roof, at the opposite end to where all the jurisprudence control officers were diverging. Grabbing hold of her associate's shoulders, she steered him to the toughened plastic trash chute, that was clamped to the side of the building. Partially obscured with tarpaulin and scaffolding, that had been erected to conduct remedial work on the warehouse. From the looks of the holey covering and rickety framework, it appeared to have been constructed a dinosaur age ago! 

The sudden realization of what his unconventional colleague had in mind, dawned on the unassuming mastermind, breaking him out of his stupor.  
“Ms Shaw, have you become completely insane?! You are surely not contemplating that we...” Harold's prose was abruptly cut off, by his own blood curdling scream, as he was shoved down the vertical slide. Their impromptu far from fun ride ended exceedingly quickly, which Finch was avidly thanking small mercies for. They both tumbled into a mountain of sand and weeds, that was luckily at the foot of that hellish helter-skelter. Harold groaned in pain as he had jolted his neck, when he had landed in a heap. Sameen sprung up looking pleased with herself, like a polished acrobat, after just nailing her landing to win Gold at The Olympics. Her boss directed an incensed glare at the female, as she helped the mature man up to a vertical position. 

“If looks could kill Harold!...” Shaw playfully quipped.  
“You are deucedly outrageous!” Finch spluttered.  
“Thank you!” Sameen answered.  
“I assuredly did not mean that as a compliment, Ms Shaw.” The older man took a few breaths and woodenly stretched. He thoroughly checked that that hell-ride, had not caused any more damage to his crippled enough already body. He was unbelievably all right, apart from a few minor abrasions; he could see that his young cohort was also gladly unhurt.

The cacophony of sirens from above were distant now, as the grave pair went to sincerely see off their fallen friend. Shaw acted as sentinel, taking point and was alleviated from having to deal with her bereft boss's emotional fallout, which was making her feel awkward in the extreme. They backtracked, to where the unthinkable had occurred and were shocked by what they found. Finch had been mentally preparing himself, for again seeing the heart attacking sight of his dead beloved. Hope was destroyed, along with any future that Harold wanted to be a part of, as he only craved to lie down and die, so that he could reunite with his lost love. His eyes went wide with astonishment and a whole new depth of loss, that he had not realized was possible to plummet to. When he was met with the perturbing sight of an unconscious Bear, a pool of blood staining the ground and disconcertingly of all no John.


	9. Aftermath

A bright blinding light completely encircled Reese, as if someone he loved was giving him a warm hug. Feeling so tired and knowing what a relief it would be, to lie down and rest in this comforting place. There was no pain anymore, just a blessed assuagement. A pure high that could never be achieved through earthly means, like mundane alcohol or drugs. Terribly fatigued, from a long arduous journey, that had taken its toll and turned awfully cold at the end. In his CIA days, on one particularly onerous afternoon, he had been in a knife fight and dodged a whaling harpoon. Ending with rather rudely being thrown off, then run over, by a snowmobile going full pelt and left for dead in the snow-clad Siberian wastes. Nearly succumbing to the enticing need, to curl up and slumber in the snow. He had inexorably fought then, to make it out and complete his mission, namely execute some Chemical Warfare dealers. Now he could not think for the life of him, what he needed to do, but just get some much-needed peace.

“No, John, wake up, please!” His partner's voice sounded so far away, but it reached the old soldier all the same. Love for his other half, hit the drifter, as if Cupid's arrow had let one fly, to remind Reese why life was worth living. His brilliant Harold's painful and beseeching words, bleeding through consciousness, as hemorrhaging life-force was spilling out. Desperately trying to claw his way back to the living, the hurt man was being swallowed up by a moving ridge, gaining momentum as it sped towards him. Needing so much to obey his boss and dream lover, with every fiber of his being. Deeply frightened, that he would never see or speak with the one he eternally adores ever again. Fighting to return, wanting nothing more than to hold and be held by the only person that has ever mattered. An ostensibly bleak effort, as he inescapably sunk into the quick sand, its compressing clutch holding him fast. Stuck like a fly, consumed before he knew it by an unseen Venus Fly Trap.

Lucidity and pain, began to return to John with equal measures. As he began choking on a breathing tube, that was shoved down his throat. An angelic nurse, removed the external respiration and attempted to calm her disorientated dependent. Looking a bit like Jess, she had a kindly face that made you want to place your life in her capable hands. She administered more morphine via the drip, then lightly touched his shoulder in reassurance, before her charge started struggling to get mobile. The caregiver tried to put a straw in his mouth to allow him to drink from a cup, however her offer was suspiciously refused. 

"Oh please, it's not poisoned! If we had wanted to kill you, we would have just not treated you and let you die." 

There was a blunt truthfulness in her tone, that John could not help believing. Besides he had little choice, owing to the fact that he was as feeble as a newborn and also parched. She assisted her charge to finally ingest some water, then rest more comfortably on mountainous pillows and get his bearings. Reese was in a low lit hospital room, where he was the only occupant. Currently residing, in a crisply laundered bed and draughtily dressed in a hospital gown. Assorted monitors were littering his eye-line, complete with flashing lights and beeping/whooshing sounds. He painfully winced, as he could feel that he had been stitched. Pulling back the sheet revealed that he had also been thoroughly bandaged. The veteran had no idea how long he had been here, as the extensive trauma and strong medication had addled his mind. Then exhaustion reasserted its hold causing him to fall back into unconsciousness, as a means of escape from an overload of unanswered questions.

Reawakening in a now brightly illuminated room, Reese opened his eyes to look up at the craggy visage of John Greer. He had not seen him since that frenetic hunt for Finch, that had led to their paths crossing at the Thornhill offices. "Tell me, how were The Elysian Fields? Were they the Paradise that Homer described? Or was it Valhalla that put you up? For you were decidedly dead, for quite a while John Reese!" 

"What do you want?" Discharged the patient, attentively watching as Greer's face broke into a shit-eating grin.

"I admire how you cut to the chase. Decima Technologies, is always recruiting exceptional talent like yourself. I remember a time in Dongsheng, not so long ago, in a situation very much like this, making a similar employment offer, to your CIA partner Kara Stanton. Appealing to her desire to get even with your employer, Harold Finch. Who has thanks to you, given up helping people by the way, because he thinks his valuable asset is irretrievably lost!" Momentarily pausing to read a reaction, that does not come to his chagrin.

"Everyone wants to offer me a job! As I told Wesley, I am not interested." Keeping up the facade of being a gray man, even though the mention of his partner made his heart skip a beat. 

"Oh yes, he was working freelance for a British contingent. Who are to put it crudely, trying to get a piece of the action. We had to step in, when he overstepped the mark somewhat. Like Gollum, in this story I feel that you still have an integral part to play. 'Wherever the fates lead us let us follow.' I have always viewed you as doing Morta's work, which is why I think we should co-exist for now, spinning out our own versions of divinity. I am sure that we will reconvene, at The Reckoning and the last analysis will definitively be instructive, of that I am certain. In the meantime, you are free to go!"

Smiling with satisfaction, when that got his desired response, as John's glazed look turned to surprise.

lostlostlostlost

Finch had returned to the library, but he was just going through the motions. He had lost his desire to help people, as he resented the fact that they would live and thrive, when his sweet John would not. Knowing that was selfish and heartless, but still not caring just the same. The first few days, had been especially hard to deal with, because he was unbalanced. He felt like he had lost a limb and was learning to walk again. The IFT founder had half expected, to see his dear friend walk in with some refreshments, as his form now haunted every nook and cranny. Shaw, when she had not been badgering him for assignments, had spent the majority of her time taking Bear out, attempting to distract the dog from his grief. The wealthy programmer, had been obstinately ignoring the machine and Root's attempts to give him numbers. Finch knew that he was not ready and doubted, that he would ever be able to face the future, working without his relevant irrelevant!

Turning over every stone to find his partner, had proven fruitless. At first, Harold had foolishly presumed that his super hero had taken flight. This was preferable to facing the truth, that he had actually died in his arms that day. Hoping against hope, that the nightmarish reality he was scarcely breathing through, had not come to pass. However, all hunts led to dead-ends. The evidence indicated that a deceased John, had been despicably purloined. Leaving no chance to have a funeral and closure. Finch hated the not knowing and inability, to put this roaming spirit faithfully to rest. Barely sleeping, only succumbing when exhaustion finally knocked him out. Hardly eating, when he did begrudgingly consume food, it gave no pleasure as everything tasted like ash. The genius repeatedly punished himself in thought and deed, for having failed to keep his soul mate alive. Tears again broke free of their dam and gushed down his pallid face. He buried his head in his hands, then forcibly slammed his desk in mortification. Inconsolable, he stayed like that for hours, helplessly weeping for his lost love. Until the rest room beckoned and he staggered to his feet, answering a call of nature.

This zombie in a trance, trudged slowly back to his workroom. Trying to force himself to think of clues that he may have missed, that would help turn up his other half. Then he spotted his true heart's desire, cheekily seated like so many countless times before, with feet casually up on his computer desk. A happy hallucination, that had magically conjured up his love, as this is who he so wanted to see. This psychotic belief should have traumatized him, as it was surely a sign that he was losing his mind. However he was just so desperate to behold his dearest, in what looked so much like the flesh, that it did not matter that this was envisioned. He was even fearful of blinking, lest this vision should disappear. 

"Hello Harold." The ghost of his beloved spoke and Finch, with gaping mouth, fainted dead away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Virgil, writer of The Aeneid.
> 
> Morta, is one of the three Parcae or Fates. In Roman Mythology, she is the Goddess of Death, who cuts the thread of a mortal's life. The other two, are Nona and Decima.
> 
> There is a lot of rinch coming up very soon, I promise!


	10. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The male on male action is starting to appear now!

The former CIA Agent sprang to his feet, just in time to catch his partner. Sweeping him up bridal style, Reese carried the older man to the antechamber, just off the main work area. Carefully depositing him on the made-up bed, that had been placed in the darkened room, so that some halcyon rest could be achieved. This had been set out due to Harold's often late working hours, although he seldom made it thus far, often falling asleep with head on desk.

John meticulously scanned his boss, until content that he was uninjured. Dark smudges under Harold's eyes betrayed lack of sleep, these stood out in direct contrast to worriedly over pale skin. Reese immediately regretted, his unsubtle entrance and hoped that his friend would wake up soon, as he had missed hearing his voice so much. Sighing sadly, the ex-op settled into an oversized armchair next to the bed and loyally watched over his man.

A dozing John, was woken up by a high pitched, distressed whining noise and violent thrashing coming from the bed. The genius was having a terrifying nightmare, where he was struggling against an unseen force. "JOHN! Nooooooooooooo...please don't die!" His desperate cries, pierced straight through the old soldier's heart. He tenderly gripped the dejected sleeper's shoulders, offering comfort and preventing him from falling out of bed.

Harold awoke with a sudden start, tears running down his cheeks and his breaths coming out in short puffs. 

"Ssssshhhhh it's all right Harold, I'm here." The veteran consoled his boss, using his hands to stroke the arms of the disconsolate one. Finch opened his eyes wide in shock and blinked away tears to clear his vision, so that he could see his love for himself. 

"Oh my God! John, you are alive! I thought you were...you..." Unable to finish his sentence, as loud sobs wracked the intellectual's slender frame. These became muffled, as Reese pulled the other man into a breath stealingly close hug. They stayed like that for a long while, graciously breathing in each other's scent and wondrous presence.

When a semblance of calm had finally returned, the ex-Ranger updated his increasingly startled billionaire, as to everything that had befallen him. Then they walked hand in hand to the en-suite bathroom, so that Harold could reassure himself in the bright light that John was truly there. The genius emitted a clarion gasp, when the recovering ex-Agent unbuttoned his shirt and unwrapped his bandages, so that he could change the dressing. 

Overcome with relief and limitless happiness, Finch heaved himself up from his seat on the closed toilet and rushed over to his mate. Neatly tucking in the fresh bandage ends and then softly stroking John's physique. Looking at his Adonis as if he were high art, the older man's expert fingers flew over arms and every available inch of exposed skin, ensuring that he was really there in the flesh. Reese took in a sharp intake of breath, feeling his loins aflame with passion as he made eye contact with his arouser.

Love, longing and pure animalistic lust, were present in both of the panting mens' countenances. John tentatively lowered his head, so that his lips were almost touching the smaller man's. Stopping short, to await permission and further instructions. The IT expert, made bold by his overriding need to be close to the one that he had lost, brushed his lips over John's. Then mouths were opened, eyes closed, as sensuous kissing commenced and tongues eagerly explored, hitherto hidden depths. Breathing the breath of life into each other's mouths, intensified their deep connection and made them feel inebriated with wanton concupiscence.

Finch frowned when he espied that the other's pants, although good quality, were not the ones tailored and fitted by him. He wanted those off, as he did not want someone else dressing his partner, also he was impatient to get to the delights within. He deftly tugged at the belt and undid the buttons holding them up, then dropped to his knees in front of the handsome ex-Green Beret. 

John's breaths got even quicker, as his mind wandered back to another time, when he had desperately wished that his boss, would have made his dearest fantasies come true. When he had been playing dress up in Wall Street, Harold had irresistibly been on his knees before him, measuring his Glen Check suit. The veteran had looked everywhere else, than at the sexy sight of his employer's face right near his crotch; wanting nothing more, than to push that spiky haired head into his groin and feel those beautiful lips on his interested cock. It had taken every batting average, he could recite and frantically field stripping rifles in his mind's eye, to force down his ascending erection. Harshly digging his fingernails into his palms, clenching his fists and controlling his breathing, all to hide his attraction. 

"I have had an immensurable urge to taste you John, every-time I have ever given you a suit fitting. I have always dreamt of this, as the ultimate and delightful denouement." Spoken as briefs were smoothly lowered and the beast that lay within, was unleashed. Harold marveled at the glorious sight of the largest penis he had ever seen, salivating at the thought of tasting that mighty man meat. Mesmerized by the beauty of seeing his brave warrior, laid bare before him, trusting and loving each other with equal measure. The irresistible sword, was now fully erect with its tip glistening with pre-come, keenly twitching, trying to seek out its scabbard and his home.

"Really? I cannot believe that we have shared the same erotic dream, all this time!" The grinning veteran, lovingly looked down at his smiling tech support.

Nimble fingers, that could quickly touch type instructions on keyboards, now wrapped themselves around John's shaft. Tugging it with increasing speed, as the ex-CIA operative emitted pleased and increasingly wanton sounds. These oaths of fidelity and love then went up an octave, as lips replaced the digits on his solid hot rod! 

"Oh Harold! Oh dear God!" Loving the amazing sensation, of the other man's tight, wet and industrious mouth bringing him to mind-blowing completion.  
"I'm going to...oh Haroooooold!" 

Finch gladly and hungrily swallowed all of the seed, that his honey had gifted him. It tasted slightly bitter but heavenly just the same, as this was the true essence of his lover, that was proof of life and love all at once.


	11. Mutual Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More shameless rinch!

A deliriously ecstatic and thoroughly spent ex-Agent, leaned back against the bathroom wall, with a cat-eating-canary grin on his face. Then he looked down at his lover, eyes ablaze with undying love. Feeling fiery and triumphant inside, when he saw the same loving look mirrored back. Extending his hand in a gentlemanly way, John helped the older man to his feet. Ravenously kissing him, in thanks for making him the happiest man on the planet. Curiously tasting himself in the other's mouth, something he had never done before even after masturbating; it had never occurred to him to want to try his own brand.

The veteran's hands, wandered down to the tenting erection in Harold's exquisitely tailored pants. Moist pre-come was wettening the fine material, as John's precise hand that easily handled any weapon, was stroking this fleshy pistol through the cloth, making it wetter by the second. "Oh John, I want you so much!" The other man breathed out, between baking hot, torrid kisses and throbbingly good touches.

The younger man, was aware of the strain on his less mobile associate, who by now had to be stiff in more ways than one! Suddenly he scooped his blushing bride (hopefully soon)-to-be, in his capable arms and carried him back to the bedroom, carefully laying him down onto the bed. In a flash, he had unwrapped his love's impressively wide girth. Nuzzling into the genius's completely erect cock and deeply inhaling the fine musk, like appreciating a rare vintage. Raining down kisses all around the groin area, then moving back up to steal his turned on lover's lips, in a heady and sweet kiss. 

Possessively encircling his long fingers, around the hefty weight of his heavily panting partner's swollen cock.  
"Ooooooh...do not stop! I need you John!"  
"I am going to make you cry out my name! Because I am yours and you are all mine!"  
"Yes, John! Oh Lord, yes!"  
The ex-op lowered his head and deep-throated his momentarily startled, but crazily happy mate. Playfully hand rolling, the fully laden balls and softly cupping the scrotum sack. He quickly moved his drooling mouth up and down, on his boss's slick dick. Teasingly nibbling on its eye and thrusting his tongue between the foreskin and shaft, to vary his prolific technique. Reveling in the delighted grunts and moans, that were spilling out of his usually reserved companion. He loved it when this typically restrained man just let himself go, ceased over-thinking and just lived in the moment. 

"Oh Jesus Christ! Joooooooohn! I am going to climax!"  
Reese greedily devoured all the come that exploded into his mouth, sucking and licking the penis head, to guarantee that he had received the full load. Savoring the bitter-sweet taste of this wonderful man's gist, knowing that it was just for him and feeling so honored because of that.

Harold melted into the bed, his toes curling with ecstasy. His face had a wide grin and purely blissful look, as he panted: "Oh thank you John, that was magnificent!"  
"No, thank you!" The ex-spy smiled, as he released his love's deflating cock with a satisfying plop. 

There was no mess, as each had filled their insides with the other's cream. Each man content to know, that their stomach was pleasingly filled with their lover's sperm; a special gift exchange, that neither of them had ever done for any other. 

Numerous sentimental kisses and tender hands, further investigated each other. The younger more energetic male, protectively helped a tiring Harold out of his clothes. Elated at the sight of his handsome genius, clad only in burgundy silk boxer shorts. The latter would not sleep naked, as he preferred to have some clothing in case he needed to get up in the night. John just stripped everything off, then hopped into the bed with his partner who was now on his good side, atop heaps of body ergonomic pillows. The former Sergeant started tunneling into the bed linen, finding his other half and seductively nuzzling into his neck. Wrapping his muscular arms around the more mature man. They were both worn out, as their muscles relaxed injuries both old and new started plaguing each of them, demanding rest to ease the aches.

An exultant Finch had never felt so safe and secure, as he was when held by his strong partner. 

"Welcome home, John."  
"Thanks...and Harold, I love you too, utterly and completely. More than anything or anyone, I have known or will ever know."

This earned a small gasp of surprise from the IT aficionado, as he eerily heard his past oath echoed back, in his virile lover's sincere re-affirmation. He started sobbing, not with sadness but tears of joy, as his depth of emotion was returned and they were genuinely united. A jubilant John snuggled closer to his love, his warm embrace offering solace and an infrangible warranty, that they would everlastingly endure.


	12. Worship

Harold awoke from a prolonged and deep slumber, that had been long overdue. Feeling completely re-energized and rapturous. Then he descried that the bed was empty, anxiety flooded over him, as he thought for one horrible moment that he had imagined the whole thing. "John!" Finch cried out, with rising panic, fear and affright imprisoning him. Until he heard the sound of the shower, then dared to breathe and believe that this was real. He pried himself out of the warm bed and headed to the bathroom. 

Reese sensed that he was no longer alone, as he opened the cubicle and came face to face with his relieved lover. Standing there naked and dripping, he came out in goosebumps as his older partner looked lasciviously at him, whilst licking his blush lips.  
"Thank goodness! I was beginning to think that I had dreamt it all!"  
John laughed, as he leaned over and stole a sloppy kiss. "You're getting me all wet, Mr Reese!"  
Chuckling louder, at Harold's mock ire. "I am just getting started, Mr Finch!" Pulling at the other man's boxer shorts, as he openly leered in a promiscuous way.

Before he knew what was happening, Harold was naked, in the shower and being lathered up by his exceedingly attentive mate. This was psychotropic, he felt like he was high again as his senses were in seventh heaven. It was even better, as he knew that he would not have that soul crushing downfall when the drug wore off. Leaving him deflated and abashed, at the few action snapshots he could recall from a swiss cheese memory. This was the supreme plateau, that could only be reached when you found consummate love.

"Oh John!...oooooh!" Other inarticulate dicta, streamed out of this usually eloquent gentleman. Sagging against a kneeling Reese, who was massaging jasmine scented gel between the buttocks of his liquescent boss. Leaving a trail of kisses in his backwash, as the ex-CIA op stroked his way up to Harold's shoulders. The taller man reverently hugged his love, as the cascading water crashed down on them as if they were standing under a waterfall. 

The veteran's proficient hands, strayed down to the other's member with undisguised neediness. The genius bashfully returned the favor, growing in confidence when every tug resulted in an appreciative moan. Kissing and pulling each other's rock hard cock, resulted in the ineluctable. Orgasmically happy, they kissed and exhaustively washed each other, in the cleansing flow of luxuriously warming water.

Reese had earlier made Shaw abreast of the change of circumstances, when he had reconciled with a rhapsodic Bear. She agreed to check on Root and to take the dog to Leon for a few days, whilst the animal's pack were reacquainted. The two typically emotionally closed-off males, at last were admitting that this was love. They had always labeled themselves as heterosexual, as they had never been attracted to another man, but love is love! John loved Harold and vice versa, their personalities had hooked each other, this went beyond previously conceived ideas of sexual orientation.

This fledgling couple then went out to a mom and pop cafe, as they both fancied some freshly prepared home-style cooking, to replenish their depleted power cells. No sooner were they seated, when a brash blonde waitress turned up at their table, with only coquettish eyes for the former soldier. She was heavily made-up, with a buxom figure and appeared to be in her early forties. John smiled politely, as the server unsubtly tried to gauge whether the good-looking man was single, whilst asking how he liked his eggs. Harold was grappling with the green-eyed monster, as he struggled to maintain his civilized exterior.

"So, I haven't seen you around here before, coz I would have remembered hun! I get off work at 2 and was wondering, if you had seen the new action movie at the..."  
Finch was starting to spit feathers, as his equilibrium was upset by this forward woman, who was odiously encroaching on his romantic life. Reese could see that his cohort was getting progressively disquieted, by the staff member's manhunt. He spontaneously reached across the table, holding the other's hand, in reassurance and to visually underline to any onlookers, that he already belonged to someone else.

Harold flushed at the public display, but secretly felt heartened, that this gorgeous and awe-inspiring man, was not hiding his commitment. He almost felt sorry for the serving woman, as her crestfallen face sank as low as her hopes for a later hot date. Breakfast passed very pleasantly after that, as they both basked in each other's propinquity. After John had returned from the restroom, he found that the check had been taken care of and Finch was smiling at him.

"Why do you look like the cat who got the cream? Have you got something devious planned for us, dear boyfriend?!"  
The senior man's smile shone brighter at this term of endearment, when he had got over the momentary surprise at being any male's beau. It had been so long since he had been cited as anyone's 'boyfriend.' Then his thoughts naturally turned to Grace, briefly making a tincture of sadness cloud his face.  
"I'm sorry. I should not have presumed..."  
"No, that is fine. You have every right to, for you are my boyfriend and if I am honest with myself, you have been for a long while. It's just that I had not realized, or thought about us in those terms, until you so succinctly, hit the nail on the head! Also the last time, I heard myself be called that, was when Grace said it. Things did not exactly end well there and I am the common denominator, in all this. I could not bear to lose what we have John, I would not survive it not this time!" 

Reese felt such a surge of love for his Einstein, as he affiliated with his heart and out-poured his innermost anticipation. Smitten and irrecoverably lost, in those soulful periwinkle blue eyes, the ex-soldier claimed a kiss from his amazed partner. The genius for a few seconds stopped worrying and gave into his pressing need, to physically relate with his love. John ended the kiss with a smile, when he heard the discontented waitress commenting to her colleague: "Why are all the fit, fine-looking guys, gay?" The ex-serviceman then elicited a startled yelp from his man, when he naughtily pinched the other's luscious bottom. Then familiarly draped his arm across Finch's lower back, as they left the eating place emphatically together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in love story mode, at the moment!


	13. Romance

Finch had ordered a car and driver, as he wanted his partner's undivided attention. Keeping tight lipped as to where they were going and beaming brightly, when John's face lit up after they had reached their destination. "Thank you," John uttered with heartfelt joy. Flexibly leaning over to passionately kiss, his more mature lover.

"You are more than welcome," the other breathlessly responded, with a radiant smile. 

Reese jumped out of the back of the car, holding the door open for his partner and gallantly reaching out to assist the older man, as he stiffly clambered out. The genius had gladly accepted his lover's hand which he still clasped, their fingers interlaced and lovingly intimate. The IT expert fondly watched John, as they traded happy smiles. Harold sent the car away, letting himself be dragged by his eager ex-CIA Agent to the best seats in the house, at Madison Square Garden.

Watching Reese esuriently watch the basketball, pleased the billionaire more than keeping track of the plays himself. The former spy, looked so fresh faced as he forgot his cares and boyishly reveled in the game. Finch even managed the beer and a few bites of the chilli dog, that his younger veteran had gifted him. Savoring in his companionship, more than the gastronomic delights on offer. Familiarly reaching over, using his thumb to wipe a glob of mustard off the corner of John's mouth. Feeling his breath catch, when his action man leaned into his touch; desperately hoping that the Knicks would just hurry and wrap the match up. Losing himself, in the taller man's deep sea blue eyes, that seemed to pierce through his very soul. Enjoying this rare period of calm, where the focus could just be on being and not thinking.

"Hey fag! You wanna move it, bitch! You're blocking my view," grunted an overweight, sweaty and hairy troglodyte in the row behind them. Bringing disquiet, where there was once a cozy ambiance. A stung Harold, now red-faced and extremely discomposed, fully moved back into his seat in a hurry. Before anyone knew what was happening, John had swiveled and swung his fist back in a whiplash snap; pushing the blow through, to the heckler's face, ending the power motion with a kayoed homophobe. Wincing as he settled back down, whilst Finch just gaped at him slack-jawed. 

Fortunately the game was over and no-one was paying any attention, to a sparked out troublemaker with his face in a carton of popcorn. Reese did not even glance at him, as he led his partner arm-in-arm out of the thriving arena. 

"Are you all right, Harold?"  
"I should be asking you that! Did you rupture your stitches?"  
Shaking his head, John soothed his worrying mate with a circular lower back rub, as they traversed the streets. "C'mon, I feel like sea food. Also I want to get you in the mood, so lets eat some oysters!"  
Finch narrowed his eyes and raised one eye brow, in an unamused sanction."I want to take a look at you, lets get somewhere private."  
"At least, buy me dinner first!"  
Harold's mouth upturned despite himself, at his ex-soldier's mock outraged tone. Sighing with resignation, as he let his stronger companion safely lead them through the crowds.

They must have walked over eleven blocks, but it did not seem that long as they relished each other's company. Enjoying the chilly evening breeze, a welcome fan cooling their ardor. Conversation was easy, predominantly coming from Harold as was usually the case. He was on top form tonight, effortlessly making ironic observations and unwittingly fueling, the calefacient charge between them. Part of this wonderful seduction that was playing out, was the build up to the prize at the end. Both men, were greatly relieved that they could now acknowledge what the other stood for. Namely, a beacon of love that will never be extinguished, at least not willingly by either of them. Knowing that if they were ever parted through a cruel twist of fate, that they would find each other, because not even death could break them up. Obeying the universal law, that true love will ultimately discover its way; carrying these kindred spirits across time and space if kismet decreed, to justly reunite them.

Hunger led them to The Sea Grill, where the billionaire's connections worked their magic, getting them the best table yet again.  
"I am having a wonderful time Harold," the ex-Agent smiled, as his impromptu lean over and kiss, turned his mature love a scarlet red. "Are you ever going to stop doing an impression of a stop light, when I show you any kind of affection?"  
"You know, I am highly uncomfortable with public displays of philia John."  
"Oh sweetheart, we could not be in a more secluded spot. The top table has its benefits, as we are not overlooked by any diners and I intend to take full advantage of that fact." Flashing a 100 watt grin at Harold, who cast him a worried glance back.  
"I think you need to lay off the molluscs, they are having a worrisome affect on you!"  
"I'm sure you won't be complaining later! When I am going to bend over backwards to gratify you! You could melt fudge on me, as I am so hot just thinking about all the naughty things I want us to do." Winking at his now spluttering lover, who had been sipping his pinot grigio just as the well-timed barbs had hit.


	14. Bonded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware there be smut here!

An endearingly flustered genius, excused himself from the table to visit the restroom. Glancing at his partner before he left, giving a small smile. Letting Reese know, that there was no offense; only wonderment, that this titillating stud could lust after a post-prime cripple. After so long taking a passive route, it was confusing to know how best to proceed. The stakes were so high, that neither could bounce back if this went wrong. They both knew, the unbearable pain of heartbreak and neither wanted to visit that place again, anytime soon. They were both wrestling, with the intense pressure and responsibility, of making this extra dimension to their close relationship work. Being polar personality opposites, meant they were handling their emotions very differently.

A part of Harold, wanted to flee but even if he did, he would not be able to stay away for long. He could not just love John from afar, he needed his constant presence, as it had become critical to his existence like respiration. When he had thought that his veteran had died, there was only sorrow and nothing left to live for. It made him more determined to face his fear of failure, that having this loving union, was worth all the worry. His former CIA Agent, made him happy and had shown him a degree of love, that he had never thought possible. That was all that counted, as every song and sonnet seemed to iterate.

The ex-soldier, observed his adorably awkward billionaire. Knowing that they were both unsure, of how to rework their partnership to allow for fringe benefits. He had been using humor, to some extent to tease his beloved, as getting a rise out of his ceremonious cohort was so satisfying. Also he was trying to break the tension, as he had belief that their love and devotion, for one another was what would lead to relationship success. Running away was not an option no matter how tempting, as his passion and need to protect his dearest, would not be extinguished through distance. He would not hide but rather fight for this chance at love, as both knew the impermanence of such things. Treasuring their time together, as every moment shared brought with it new joys and deepened their kinship.

Reese was waiting impatiently, as he was eager to peel back even more layers to this bonding. He was just about ready to hunt his mate down, when he spotted the software engineer en-route back. Except he was not alone, as walking closely by him was Monica Jacobs. They were both smiling as they approached John, who chivalrously rose to his feet, gladly shaking their previous number's hand. 

"I thought you were gone a while!"  
"Yes I could not believe it, when Miss Jacobs called out to me. It is a small world! I suppose it had to happen, as New York is more like a village, with the same sorts of people frequenting similar places," Harold gushed.  
"I have been keeping busy. I started an exciting job at IFT; there are some really worthwhile projects that we are working on. There is one in particular, that concerns using breakthrough bio-sensors, predicting minute climatic changes, to more precisely pinpoint meteorological disasters. However, we are having a reoccurring coding anomaly with one of the bio-receptors," Monica's quick-fire words, spilt out in excitement.  
"I'd like to see that, if I may Miss Jacobs? I am sure that I can be of assistance, as I have experience in this area. Particularly with regard, programming electrochemical bio-transducers and microbial bio-sensors."  
"Oh that would be wonderful, Harold, thank you so much. Please call me Monica, remember? I am with my friend, Becky, would you mind if we came over?" "No problem, Monica. Oh if that is okay, with you John?" "Absolutely, the more the merrier!"

Whilst the two IT professionals, animatedly discussed fault tolerant computing and convulutional codes, the other couple started to talk. Becky Ward, had been friends with Monica since they had been sorority sisters. Qualifying as a doctor, following a desire to see the world, led to the army; which provided sufficient common ground, for the veterans to get lost in their old war stories. 

Finch had been enjoying the chance, to discuss advanced IT and scribble mathematical formula on napkins. Hankering back to his MIT days, when Nathan and a few exceptionally gifted peers who could keep up, would form impromptu coding dojos, as an exigent to release blue-sky thinking. The sound of laughing, made him raise his head from the detailed schematics, laid out on the latest edition notebook, with 4th generation Intel Core. Miss Ward's head was flung back, as her body was wracked with guffaws of helpless laughter. A stab of jealousy hit Finch, as a giggling John familiarly nudged his new-found associate in the ribs.

"You are terrible! A wire brush really? Wasn't that in an episode of MASH?!"  
"I swear, it happened on my Hippocratic oath! It came in handy with the piles."  
"So the grunts, are bringing in their own treatment now; just really well hidden!" Reese smirked.

If John had a female type, then Becky fit the mould. She was in her thirties, intelligent, with long, blonde hair and blue eyes. At 5 foot 11 inches, her stature made her appear more like a lingerie model, she was simply stunning. Her body language, was giving away all the tells like hair twirling, that showed that she was attracted to her fellow ex-military comrade. Working as a brain surgeon at Mount Sinai, left little time for dating and she was making it subtly clear that she was unattached.

Harold had confidence, in the mutual respect that had been forged between himself and his younger companion. However doubts still plagued him, that he could satisfy this potent and better-looking male. Clothes, poor lighting and a steamy shower, had all heretofore helped camouflage his major scars. He was worried that John, would get a closer look and be repulsed. Someone like Miss Ward would be perfect, could make Reese a father; maybe this old programmer should do the noble thing. Except he could not be that selfless, he wanted John like no other, to own him like a rare book. There was no-one else only this ex-spy, this extraordinary first edition, who was more highly prized than anything in the wealthy man's life.

Reese could feel his lover's eyes upon him, warmly smiling at him as he returned the eye lock. He idolized this brilliant man, who got so agog over anything remotely techy. It was like watching a preschooler on a play-date, seeing Harold converse with Monica about the newest gadget. Past teasing of Finch having a crush on their number, came to his mind. Even then he had been thinking an unhealthy amount, about his boss's love-life, only daring to insert himself in it within his private fantasies. Afraid that he would lose his friend, if he shared how profoundly his feelings ran. A pang of envy hit John, as he wished that he had Jacob's ability to discourse at Harold's level about IT matters. Maybe his recluse would be happier with an intellectual equal, someone who was noetically stimulating enough. However, that just made him want to battle for his partner even more. Nothing in this world, was more important than their love and joint mission to save the irrelevants. There would always be too many secrets, that could never be told, creating unbreachable distances and dooming any other relationship. Not that either of them would want anyone else, they were together through inclination not necessity.

A correlative understanding and imperative need to affirm their love, supercharged the air between the males. This inadvertent double date had only underscored the fact, that the men had already found their ideal inamorato. The two females seemed to sense, this atmospheric change and disappointingly called a halt to the evening.  
Hastily the ladies departed, with Monica at least satisfied that her technological problem had been solved. 

"Get us a room, Harold."  
"The very best, John."  
Matching smiles, as they settled into the waiting car in a mellow haze. Alighting at The Surrey, a favorite of art lover Finch; who appreciated its close proximity, to the Met and Guggenheim. He particularly adored the well-designed interior, that was overflowing with arresting artworks. Wren's black credit card, secured an impressive suite. 

"Why do I feel like a virgin, on prom night?"  
"I must confess Mr Reese, that I am inexperienced in these matters as well. At least with a man, although I could hardly be accused of ever being a Casanova, when it comes to the female persuasion either."  
"Are we back to formalities, already? Here's me thinking that we were making progress," sighed the younger man.  
"Would you like a nightcap, John?"  
"I would rather have dessert, Harold," following up his sensual request with a sulfurous kiss. That was freely reciprocated and joined with exploratory hands. Nerves were forgotten, as carnal desire overrode all insecurities. Buttons were undone and kisses liberally spread on any exposed flesh. 

Reese supported his less mobile partner as he undid Harold's button fly, stopping as he felt his better half tense.  
"It's nothing I haven't seen and revered before, my dearest."  
"Yes, but not in these harsh lights. I fear that my scars, will look markedly more hideous and revolt you."  
"How could you ever believe that? I love every inch of you, all the blemishes and imperfections."  
"There aren't that many!"  
John laughed at his lover's umbrageous riposte, who then relaxed and began laughing as well. Ravenous kisses and desperate pulls at clothing; resulted in two naked mates, shivering with want, like Eros and Psyche. 

Reese sensitively hugged, his paramour and swept him up amidst squeals of half-hearted protest. Laying Harold, onto the massive bed and planting kisses from his lips down to his hairy chest, that he burrowed into with relish. Delighting in the contrast, to his own clean shaven pectus and loving the affect it was having on his staid beau, who was snickering.  
"That tickles!"  
"Teach me a lesson then!"  
"Oh John!" Harold gasped, as his hands wandered around to the other's rear and stroked the anus.

Ever since enduring his first prostate exam, he had mulled over a more pleasurable use. No male before now had ever tempted this journey, that he had secretly wanted to take. Encouraged by John's happy noises, Harold briefly stopped, leaned over and rummaged in the bedside drawer. Knowing that these luxurious hotels always catered for your every whim, he was not disappointed as he located the expensive lubricant. Breaking the seal and liberally spreading it on his digits, he resumed the anal exploration whilst furiously kissing his love. Both of their cocks were fully erect, John was pulling at Harold's, whilst the latter was showing him the back-door to ecstasy. A few well-targeted hits to the ex-soldier's perineum, made him cry out "Harold!" with unabashed delectation, as he came all over the older man's thorax.

"I want to come in you, John. Please, may I?"  
"Oh God, Harold! Yessssssss!"

The billionaire smiled sweetly, at his true love. His fervid arousal for his lover, making him audacious. Needing nothing more than to claim his heart's desire, to prove that he alone possessed him and no other. The finger banging, had loosened up his partner and prepared the way. Wasting no time, Harold slicked up his dick with the warming jelly, that mixed with his leaking pre-come. After some reshuffling, John was on his knees bent over the foot of the bed, with his mature boyfriend positioned behind him. Pressing in two fingers just to ensure that all was ready, these were smoothly replaced with a hard member, that slowly breached the tight opening.

"Oh John! That feels so amazing, my love."

The ex-Agent, just answered with a loud grunt and deliriously blissful noises, that coincided with the thrusts that were now hitting his prostate. Finch rammed into his younger partner, with an impressive vigor for an aging man. Reese leaned back and met him, to deepen the impact and increase the pleasure for both. The genius, began committing to memory every blessed sensation, as his cock entered and almost fully withdrew from his lover's sacred orifice. Thoroughly owning the other, emphasizing his masculinity and undying love for this divine being. 

Reese had never trusted anyone enough, to let them plunder him like this. Now he was so thankful that he had waited, for it to be with the one man that he could never live without. Each male was in a state of euphoria, as they were fulfilling their wildest fantasies with their soul mate. Connected inside and out, they grieved at the thought of this moment ever ending. John screamed out something unintelligible, as he came again all over the bed spread. Finch held out for as long as he could, but feeling John's sphincter clench down hard on his cock, as the latter spurted his orgasm became too much. Harold cried out "John," as he came inside the onetime operative. Clasping the kneeling man's shoulders, as he completed shooting his load; riding the aftershocks, his throbbing cock pulsated and then began to deflate. Kissing the other's back and massaging it, as he withdrew and stood back on shaky legs.


	15. Together

Harold looked down, at his better half with absolute love. Careening with exertion, but not falling, as John all of a sudden, clutched him in athletic arms. Reverentially kissing and caressing each other, as the software developer sagged against his stalwart lover. 

"Come on, lets get cleaned up. I'll power up the jacuzzi, you get us something nice to drink."  
"Certainly John," Finch answered, with an immense smile.

Before long, the genius was settling back in the opulent ensuite's hot tub, against his younger mate's chest. Reese stifled a groan of pain, but his ever-vigilant associate heard and trained apprehensive eyes upon him.  
"I'm all right. Just a bit tender, you brute!" John added, with a hearty laugh.  
"Really John?! I apologize profusely, if I have aggravated your injuries in any way. I should not have given into my baser instincts, at the expense of your health and well-being. Oh darling, please forgive me," kissing his partner's hand as he spoke.  
"There is nothing to forgive my love...Also you have carte blanche, to give into those baser instincts, anytime your heart desires it!"  
Sharing a look of love and understanding, that chased the older man's worry away.  
Melting into each other, as they nestled and unwound in the deluxe bathtub. 

"Nice champagne, I like bubbles with my bubbles! But I didn't think you cared for it, Harold!" John stated, as he sipped his drink appreciatively.  
"I ordinarily do not. But I thought the occasion called for, something prodigious and this was a particularly good vintage. Also I know, how much you like it and this is your day, to indulge John."  
"Yes I am rather partial, to a mature body with a prominent nose!"  
Reese snickered with impish glee and kissed away, his lover's wounded look. 

The former Green Beret, took great delight in assisting his tiring boyfriend, to towel dry and get into his emerald green silk pajamas. Back at his loft, the ex-serviceman would usually just sleep in old sweat pants and a tee. Now he gave into his preference to sleep naked, which he only indulged in when he felt safe and was unlikely to need to flee from assassins, in the middle of the night. He wanted no barrier, between himself and his one and only. The billionaire after prolonged shuffling, managed to settle himself on a throne of pillows. The veteran, careful not to displace his bedfellow, cuddled in next to his love and proprietorially dropped an arm over his waist.

"Thanks for a terrific day."  
"You are welcome."  
"I love you, Harold."  
"I love you too, John."  
Sealing their devout declarations, with a long goodnight kiss. They both relaxed and were asleep, within minutes.

The ex-spy awoke, to an empty bed and a scrumptious smell of fried bacon. After a quick trip to the bathroom, to apply clean dressings, he sought out his lover. Finch had thoughtfully and generously ordered, from the room service menu. There were an impressive array of choices, set out on a wheeled trolley, under shiny metal covers, keeping the food hot and hygienic. The server, had been sent away with a hefty tip. Reese made a beeline for his man, gathering him up in a bear hug and depositing a good morning kiss on his lips. A hungry John, enthusiastically starting lifting lids, to discover the culinary delights within. After asking what his older beau wanted, he then serviced Harold's needs first, by assembling a plate with Spanish Omelet and grilled tomatoes. Attentively serving it up to Finch, who was now seated at the clothed table, sipping green tea and reading USA Today. The onetime CIA Agent, then grabbed a tower of pancakes, honey cured bacon and venison sausages. Promptly seating next to his genius, he drizzled copious amounts of maple syrup over his bounty and dug in with relish. Stopping only for a few mouthfuls of coffee, that Harold had poured him.

"Eat up, Harold. I have a busy day planned for us."  
"Really? I am intrigued. I spoke to Ms Shaw earlier and things seem to be in hand. I must say, that I needed a break and you were long overdue one Mr Reese. Maybe the machine hypothesized this, as it has not given me another number, or attempted to through Ms Groves. When I thought you were...I could not bring myself to continue with our mission, it just seemed so unimportant, when I could not save you."  
A smiling John, reached across the table, giving his boyfriend's hand a reassuring squeeze. Passing on strength, to his emotional compeer, who was trying to keep tears from falling, at just remembering how much he had nearly lost. The mature male, did not trust himself to speak for a while, as he could not control his wobbly voice and did not want to break down, thinking of past horrors. 

After that, the morning flew by, as time often does when filled with fun activities. Finch's previous somber mood was forgotten, as he was now ecstatic; as Reese knew he would be, spending a cultured few hours, flitting from one exhibit to the next at the Met. Pausing for thought and a breather, at the Kentridge 'Refusal of Time,' artistic creation; John sat next to Harold on a bench, musing over the monolithic, kinetic sculpture, known as the 'breathing machine.'  
"Do you think of your machine as a living entity Finch?"  
"In a non-existential sense, it is learning, evolving and protecting. However I have always resisted, imprinting human categorizations upon it, we are discussing a computer not a child. I did not create a eupnoeic organism, just a machine, albeit the most complex and high functioning device, that I could manage at the time."

Back to a whirlwind tour of the artworks, that Finch never had the leisure time to ordinarily enjoy. Then onto the Guggenheim Museum, for a fine dining lunch at the Wright. The couple both basked in the ambience, of such artistically pleasing surroundings, seated by the curvilinear walnut clad wall with twinkling star-like fiber optics. Consuming with gusto, the menu's positive stimulus, namely jumbo lump crab meat with sea urchin sauce; and slow-roasted suckling pig with quince, violet mustard, and apple bacon jus. Sharing with each other, the delights of each dish; John had ordered the pork but accepted a taste of Harold's main, seductively sucking the latter's fingers to get another gustatory sensation, before the finger bowl wiped away all trace. Finch was having a glorious day, that he never wanted to end. Reaching under the table, the hacker grabbed his surprised partner's knee.  
"Thank you, John. For making me the happiest man alive. You mean everything to me."  
"My pleasure, Harold. The day is not over yet!" 

Reese's pièce de résistance, touched a thoroughly romanced and blest IT expert, as he was led in a dreamlike state to box theater seats. Harold concluded, that life could not get any better, as he rhapsodically watched: 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' with the love of his universe.


	16. Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More steamy love, before the angst begins again!

Reese could not help but feel inordinately pleased, that Finch was enjoying his day out. It was the least that he could do, after his love had only yesterday, gifted him with such a magical time. However, every moment with Harold was to be treasured, as they did not know when their mission would end. This was unlikely to conclude with retirement in the sun, although he dreamed that it would. At least, it would not be a CIA pension plan, where an agent could look forward to being terminally retired with a black hood.

The ex-paramilitary operative, smiled as he glanced at his lover, who was enraptured by the performance. They sat close together, the only two in the roomy box that had the best view of the stage, with John's arm cloaked around the other's shoulders. The veteran, spoilt his older man, buying his favorite vanilla ice-cream cornetto, a program and generally paid attention to his every need. 

"That was a glorious production. The thespian who played Bottom, was particularly exceptional. Thank you Mr Reese, for enduring another Shakespearean play!"  
"I am glad that you enjoyed it, Finch. I actually found it entertaining, despite my earlier misgivings. I agree, that actor made me laugh quite a few times as well," grinning as he helped Harold into his coat. Holding hands, they left the theater and sought out an unobtrusive cafe bar, for a light bite, as they were both still half full from their large lunch. Finding a medium sized saloon, just off the main thoroughfare, the sound of soft jazz drifted out of the venue, enticing them in. The onetime soldier, had a steak burger whilst the programmer opted for the pancetta parmigiano risotto; sociably sharing a bottle of first-rate chianti. 

Later they retreated back to the hotel, both appreciating the anonymity of the establishment. It took the pressure off, not worrying how they were perceived by people that knew them, or thought they did. Which was one of the reasons, they had not picked the one Harold owned; they had not wanted to see Miss Dobrica, as pleasure should be kept apart from business, wherever possible. They were reveling in their mini-vacation, that was separate from the pressures of their everyday lives. This was not just a fleeting romance, as both men wanted to continue it in conjunction with their work. The couple knew, that this would take some juggling and compartmentalization, but these attributes were within their skill-set, so they were not unduly worried. Now, they were satisfied, with just discovering the magnitude of their ambient relationship.

Holding each other, in a tight hug, they breathed in their love's scent. Sharing kisses and exploring bodies with eager hands. The mature male, was beginning to be at ease with revealing his scarred body to his younger cohort. He carefully removed his clothing, managing to hang up his three piece suit, whilst playfully combating John's octopus arms and generous touches. Laying on the Californian King, he looked up at his handsome ex-soldier, who was wasting no time in stripping off and following his boss onto the bed. They both snuggled up together, completely in the buff, stroking arms, legs and rutting against each other in wanton need. 

"I want to ride you," the former serviceman stated, with adoration in his eyes.  
"Oh yes please," the MIT alumnus, breathed out with a worshipful look.  
John retrieved the lubricant, that Harold cracked open and liberally applied to his fingers. Kissing lips and delicately working open his ex-military man's back passage. The billionaire, scissored his fingers inside a moaning and malleable Reese. The former Green Beret, bucked his erect penis into Finch's free hand, as they licked and nibbled each other with curious mouths. When the ex-spy was sufficiently wet and loose, he clambered onto his mate, whose heart was aflutter. Harold laid back, savoring the intense feeling of his stiff cock breaking through his lover's snug hole. Two sets of eyes, locked with love and urgent need as John rampantly rode his mate, like a bucking bronco at a rodeo. The computer developer, thrust up and inwards, getting into a groove with his partner; who was squeezing with toned thighs, as well as lifting almost fully off the hard member. Driving each other crazy, as their momentum increased and their randy rhythm reached a horny crescendo. Coming together and crying out each other's name, in their heady peak of exaltation.

Reese supported his weight on his forearms, as he leaned down and kissed his heart's desire. Then bounded off to the bathroom, cleaning himself and returning with a cloth for his rapidly tiring mate. Quickly dispensing with their bedtime routine, which was comfortingly pacifying to both, they held each other as they kissed good night. The senior man was now attired in mustard yellow silk pajamas, whilst a naked ex-assassin fondly cuddled him.

"I had been having trouble sleeping, but in bed with you I just drift off John."  
"Are you saying that I bore you!"  
"Hardly! It's not just exhaustion, (from all the extracurricular activities either,) that is causing me to slumber. I suppose, I have one less thing to worry about, knowing that you are safe in my bed. In addition, you make me feel so loved and protected."  
"I feel the same. I hope that when we return, you will not be a stranger at the loft."  
"I would like for us to sleep together as often as we can. Barring numbers causing all-nighters at the library, or prolonged stake-outs that I cannot typically attend, I will be with you. Wherever you are my love, is home."  
The relieved ex-Ranger grinned, as he enclosed his tech support in firm arms. Inhaling Finch's scent and kissing, the top of his peaky haired head. Contentedly lying together in blissful harmony, until sleep claims them.


	17. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy comfort to start...then will there be hurt?!

John awoke first, when tendrils of sunlight streamed into the room, through the gap in the blackout drape, carelessly pulled across during their ruttish mood. Watching his number one sleeping peacefully, even adoring the other's rhythmic snores. Smiling as he berated himself, for having it so bad! Wanting this happy time to never end, he could not help but hold his love, close to his broad chest. Harold was still asleep, but he unconsciously stirred, pulled towards his amour, by a compelling attraction.

The onetime Ranger, could not resist but rain down kisses on his slumbering partner. His mighty morning wood, was rollickingly digging into Finch's lower back. The software engineer, awoke to the robustious greeting and drove back, against the salutatious sensation.  
"Mmmm...Good morning Mr Reese."  
"Morning Finch," John affectionately answered. Trailing kisses and coltish nips, down the older man's neck and hairline.

The former espionage operative, tenderly inserted his fingers into the gaps between the buttons in Harold's pajama top, stroking any skin he detected there. Suddenly tongues were locking, in an impassioned battle for ascendancy, needing to show how much more one loved the other. Buttons flew open as the ex-soldier, sucked and suckled on the genius's pecs. Tweaking nipples and eliciting a cry of pleasure, as John palmed his mate's burgeoning hard-on. The hacker keenly arched his back, pressing into his fully aroused boyfriend. Unable to stand the friction anymore, Reese swiftly removed the pajama bottoms. With one hand firmly grasping his billionaire's cock, he pulled and skillfully worked it, so that the room reverberated with Harold's intoxicating vociferations.

The ex-CIA Agent, utilized his lover's pillowy buttocks, creating a penis prison, whose walls he furrowed against. Not entering the anus, as that would need lengthy preparation to avoid fissures. They both just wanted a relatively quick release, to relieve their uncontrolled lustfulness for one another. John intuitively matched the tempo, of wanking his love and channeling into the peachy cheeks. Finch came first into the veteran's fist, closely followed by the latter as he plowed into the winded and joyous programmer.

"I love you, with all my heart," the ex-serviceman spoke in a silky smooth whisper, as he kissed and nuzzled the other's nape.  
"I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now - but you will not - you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death," quoted a breathless and sated mastermind.  
"Oh Harold, only you, with your sexy voice, could make Dickens sound so filthy!"  
"You're incorrigible!" Laughed the mature man, as he leaned back into Reese's loving embrace. 

Harold accepted his lover's offer and used the bathroom first, then set about checking in with Ms Shaw. When Reese had taken care of his ablutions, he was met with Finch's apologetic face.  
"We have a new number don't we? Thought it was too good to last!"  
"Yes I am afraid so. Ms Shaw is collecting Bear and meeting us at the library, in due course."  
"Lets have some breakfast first, I have worked up quite an appetite."  
"My thoughts exactly. I think it might be nice to go out, last night I observed what looked like a quaint coffeehouse not far from here."

Minutes later, the couple were seated in a moderately busy cafe. The former government employee, was wolfing down a wholesome, American repast and industrial strength, oil black coffee. Harold smiled at his famished associate, speculating where he put it all and surmising that he must have hollow legs! The IT developer, munched his toast and cherished the easy fellowship that hung between them. Feeling so serendipitous, that this awing champion had come into the autumn of his life, at a time when both had been so lovelorn and despondent. 

A cab dropped them a few blocks from the library, they then walked the rest of the way concordantly side by side. Back at base-camp, Finch checked on his computers and set about investigating their newest number. Reese swung by the Faraday Cage to guarantee that Root was secure, then got back into work mode by changing into one of his spare suits. When the ex-spy entered the workroom, his employer was pinning a photograph of their irrelevant onto the glass board. 

Suddenly a wave of dizziness swamped the erstwhile serviceman, as he took a preliminary look at the number. Shaking his head he managed to defog his mind, as he sat down before he fell. Fortunately for Reese, Finch had had his back to him so had not noticed this blip, as the ex-CIA Agent did not want a fuss over nothing. It was probably caffeine overload, from that super-strength coffee earlier. 

The sometime insurance underwriter, glanced at his partner, with smiling eyes.  
"Our new number, is a man I believe that you are already acquainted with Mr Reese: a Mr John Greer, of Decima Technologies. Well, that is his known alias anyway, I am currently hacking into the rather operose MI6 database, that once cracked, should fill in some employment history at the very least. Are you feeling all right, Mr Reese?"

The ex-army man, had been getting progressively paler through his boss's summary. Trying not to react to the stabbing jolts of pain that were attacking his chest and head; but the onslaught was too intense and he was now doubled up in crippling agony. Distantly garnering comfort from Finch's arm as it was placed around his lower back, whilst an increasingly worried genius repeatedly called out to him. 

Then as if a switch had been flicked, the pain dissipated and everything became crystal clear, John knew with uttermost certainty what he must do. The older male, perturbingly felt his friend grow still and unresponsive to his frantic calls. He tried stroking him and then giving little shakes, to break the rigor mortis that his loved one seemed frozen in. 

At that moment, Shaw and Bear walked in; Finch had never been so glad to see the ex-Agent with her much needed medical expertise. Harold got up from his crouched over position, loathed to break contact with Reese but needing to intercept an overkeen Bear, who wanted to physically demonstrate to his pack how much he had missed them. The recluse quickly ordered his dog in Dutch to be still, giving him a brief smooth to reassure him that he was welcome. Turning his attention to the female, his voice betrayed a tremor as he spoke:  
"Ms Shaw, assist Mr Reese, there is something gravely wrong with him."  
When she did not move straight away, he repeated his command with irritation at having to waste time that could be spent healing his love. He was about to angrily snap again, when he followed her stony gaze; to see the phantasmagoric sight of John pointing a gun at them, no at him, he corrected himself.

"Mr Reese, what are you doing?!" Finch managed to gasp out. His face set in a dumbfounded expression, as he swept his eyes over the former Green Beret. This was surreal; as if he had been transported back to that rooftop, where an emotional Reese in order to save his dearest, had bluffed that he was going to shoot, a show that had fooled no-one. This time however, felt different and very wrong, as the old soldier unwaveringly aimed his weapon with a glassy stare. It was as if Harold's loyal lover had been replaced by a lethal cyborg from the future, intent on terminating him. 

Bear was looking confused, as he was watching his alpha behaving coldly towards his mate and he did not smell right; feeling torn, he chose to protect the weaker male and started barking.  
"Shaw, slowly take out your weapons, all of them and throw them on the floor by the table. Then take the dog outside and lock the gate behind you," the ex-assassin ground out in a monotone voice.  
She reluctantly parted with her ordnance and then looked at Finch; who firstly nodded his assent and then secondly, spoke some calming commands to Bear.  
"I don't know what the hell you are playing at Reese, but if you so much as bruise Finch, you will need embalming!" Glaring at her opposite number, she did as she was told.

"Drop to your knees," the ex-spy icily ordered. The cripple clumsily sank down onto the floor, breathing heavily with exertion and emotion.  
"I know this is not really you John, you're being compelled. When you were taken, did they do something to you? I can help, please John, let me get you checked out. Don't do this, I am begging you, not so much for me but yourself, it will destroy you!"

The onetime Ranger, started to imperceptibly shake, as the words hit him like hailstones, feeling their impact deep inside, but unable to react. He was locked in an escape proofed cell, whose impenetrable door he was flinging himself at, in an inefficacious attempt to break free. His all-encompassing love for the speaker of those heartfelt pleas, was giving him the strength to dent the jail, but then a shot of electrical energy hit him, as if a forcefield had sent him flying back. The automaton was back in control and rotated with lightning speed, firing at Shaw who had been sneaking in with a back-up pistol, that she had retrieved from a hidey hole known only to her. Harold gasped in shock and despair, as he half turned to see Sameen shot in the chest and fall backwards into the racking, bringing down shelves of books on top of her still form. 

Setting his sights back to his original quarry, the man in the suit steeled himself for what must be done.  
"John! I know you are in there my beloved. If you can hear me, I realize this is not you, I don't blame you, please don't blame yourself, for this is not your fault. Know that I love you and I will never stop. I love you John," repeating his honest vow for emphasis, as he sobbed his final words.  
A tempestuous Reese, drew on his innermost stockpile of strength and determinedly regained mastery of himself. 

"Oh God Harold, please forgive me! What am I doing? I cannot control myself, I feel like I am possessed. There is a thing inside me, I can feel it, when I fight against it, something zaps me, then when I am weak it takes over," the ex-serviceman cried with desolation as he spoke.  
"It's okay John. We'll take care of this, I'll get you the best help. It sounds like your captors implanted a device inside you, if I could just take a look..."  
"No! There's not much time, I don't know how long I can resist. All my heart loves you, but I am not strong enough to halt it; I'm so sorry. I see it now, I have been conditioned to not stop until I kill you. Please stop me, I cannot drop this gun. Get the spare glock in the records drawer, please hurry."  
"What?! No, why? To knock you out? I could not do that, even if I had the strength, I cannot hurt you," tracks of tears covered the mature male's devastated face, as he looked at John's equally ruined physiognomy.  
"You'll have to shoot me, as I won't stop. I implore you Harold, I love you and I could not bear to be your executioner. I need you to save me by saving yourself. Please shoot to kill, as anything less and I will keep coming for you."  
"John no! As if I could, how can you tell me to do that?! I would sooner shoot myself than you," the recluse broke down in uncontrollable sobs, as his shattered heart could not take anymore abuse.  
"It's the only way, as there is no time for anything else. I can feel my grip slipping, it is taking all the power I have to keep from pulling this trigger and killing you. I will not do that!" 

Through his tears, Harold could see the resolute expression that was now fixed on his cohort's countenance. Reese seemed to be drawing on even more inner strength, as he combated the mind control, that was forcing him to go against his very nature. The gun wobbled, as the interior battle raged.  
"I cannot let the gun go, I need to fire it," cried the former operative.  
"Maybe if I help you push it up, then you could fire shots into the ceiling."  
"That won't do. I have had experience of this before, but never on the receiving end. I am primed to kill and will keep going until..." John wept, as he choked on his odious words.  
"Then do it, if that is the only way for you to be free. I would die for you, I love you, more than my own life John."  
Those courageous words spoken by his true love, momentarily freed him with their awesome power. He knew, this was only a temporary reprieve and that his mission would need fulfillment. Determined not to waste a second of this armistice, he maneuvered the gun so it was not aimed at his soul mate, but still not able to throw it down. Knowing that time had nearly run out of the sandglass, he dashed over to his lover, helping him up from the floor; holding him tightly and stooping down to kiss him goodbye.

Regretfully he broke the hold and stepped back. Raising his gun, as his body was succumbing to a greater, malign force. Finch shared a look with his best friend, that spoke of love and inculpable trust.  
"I love you Harold and I will die for you."  
Then a sudden, horrifying realization dawned on the Universal Heritage creator, as the firearm began its aiming arc away from him.  
"Nooooooooooooo John! Please stoooooooooooop!"  
Screaming in terror, as he watched a conflicted Reese turn the gun on himself and fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quoted from Charles Dickens, The Mystery of Edwin Drood.


	18. Treatment

Finch felt his heart go super nova in his chest, as the full impact of the tragedy that he had witnessed hit him. Dropping to his knees, as grief and hopelessness overwhelmed him. A despairing and sobbing puddle, whose life had just ended and relegated him to an horrific limbo. He knew he should go to his lover, but the thought of seeing his usually so active action man lifeless, augmented the pain and all he could do was lay on the floor vibrating as he wept.  
The genius, wallowing in sorrow, was oblivious to the commotion coming from the shelving area. Shaw grunted in discomfort, as she pulled herself upright and began unstrapping her bullet proof vest.

"Reese shot me! That sonofa..."  
This derogatory comment directed at his lost love, snapped Harold back to grim reality. Pulling himself together, he shot a dirty look at his female operative.  
"I'd say that makes you even! Not that it matters now, as Mr Reese is..." cried the senior man. Breaking down, aghast at the realization that his number one was permanently departed. Needing to see his dearest, he apprehensively went to his beloved's side, unwilling to say goodbye as he could not bear the loss. 

The programmer looked afflicted, as he half crawled and lurched towards his loved one. He could not breathe as he looked at a motionless John, who could be asleep, if not for the ocean of blood enveloping him. Finch reached out and stroked the handsome veteran's visage, his hand shaking as he wailed in interminable agony. Clasping the old soldier's shoulders, as he leaned down to kiss his beautiful partner's too cold forehead.

Sameen reached for her static team-mate's pulse, ignoring her employer's attempt to pull Reese even closer to him, in a protective knee-jerk reaction.  
"Finch, he's still alive, although scarcely. We need to get him to a surgeon, now!"  
Her words made the billionaire jump, as if an electric current has passed through him. A sliver of hope was reignited and gave him impetus to action the appropriate contingency. A crack team of paramedics and the best trauma surgeon on emergency speed dial, were called upon to earn their generous retainers; prepared at a minute's notice to be taken from a rendezvous point and whisked away to an undisclosed location to treat a classified VIP. A helicopter flown by a trusted pilot, (who had been personally vetted by both Harold and John,) speedily flew in the healing angels. Shaw went up to the roof to meet them, checking that none of the passengers peeked out from under their black hoods; again their bountiful fees helped insure their compliance. 

A flurry of white clad activity skirted around the patient, putting him on a stretcher, hooking him up to monitors and intubating him. Finch stood back to give the medical unit room; all the while hoping and praying to any immortal being that was listening, for everything to work out.  
"He's crashing, need to resus...get the paddles...clear!"  
The hacker's breath hitched, as he observed his better half flatline. The doctor shocked Reese and the latter jolted with activity as the charge hit him, then mockingly returned to an unnaturally inactive state.  
"Up the charge...we're losing him!"

Harold was having palpitations, giving a start every time the electricity was applied. Pointedly disregarding the increasingly sympathetic looks from the medics, who could not help but notice their benefactor's heartache.  
"Keep going, do not stop trying!" Finch's definitive tone, signalled nothing of his inner turmoil. Stringently commanding his personnel, to continue in their fight for John's life; also vitally petitioning his soul mate to stay alive. Letting out a huge breath, when the cardiac rhythm returned and Harold once again heard the sweetest music: his love's heartbeat.

The computer expert, closely shadowed his sweetheart, as he was stretchered to the chopper. A nightmarish journey ensued as the ex-CIA Agent's heart stopped again, with incessant CPR and endless prayers from an agitated mastermind, Reese pulled through. Finch gingerly sat by his now thankfully stabilized but still unconscious boyfriend; looking with dismay at the younger man's chest, which was a mess of torn clothing, draining tubes and most upsetting of all his true love's blood. He was scared of dislodging a life-line if he went too near his erstwhile Ranger's lower torso, so he hovered near the latter's top half, stroking a cheek and planting a kiss on it.  
"Listen to me, you are going to continue fighting to live, for I will not survive without you. My darling John, you are the love of my life and I need you here with me," sobbed Harold. Wishing the transport would arrive at the infirmary more quickly, where thanks to Wren's platinum donations, first-class treatment with no questions asked would be provided.

After landing on the hospital roof, they hit the helipad running, even Finch managed a turbo hobble as he was loathe to lose sight of his heart's desire. He was eventually halted by a no-nonsense nurse, guarding the OR and who made him wait outside. Hating the feeling of helplessness and not being able to do something, to ensure that his one and only lived through this. Some reassurance was his faith in the leading cardiologist and trauma surgeon, Doctor Madeline Enright who was prepped and raring to operate. All the IFT founder could do was deflect the negative voice, that was telling him that all was doomed, by gawkily pacing and sometimes sitting, then fervently drumming his fingers on his lap. Existence was on pause, until the IT expert heard that his everything would endure.  
Hours later, a drab and fatigued Dr. Enright materialized from the operating theater. Harold took one look at her melancholy expression and feared the worst. Tears freely fell and his labored breath, resonated around the austere hospital corridor.

"He's not dead Harold," Maddie palliated.  
"Oh thank God!" The elder male visibly flagged and shook with relief.  
"When can I see Mr Reese? Thank you so very much for saving him, words seem so inadequate to express how grateful I am. For John means the world to me, I love him so much," fumbling with his speech as emotion overtook him. The physician empathized with him, giving him an assuasive hug, as she felt the same degree of love for her wife Amy.

"He did die on the table but we managed to bring him back, the next few hours are critical, it could go either way now; it is largely up to him, I am afraid, but he is a fighter! John is in recovery at the moment and he will be out of it for most of the night, I will let you know when you can see him. There is something else, I could not remove the device that is linked to his heart. I have never seen anything like it, the aorta is wrapped around it; I ran the risk of severing the arterial artery, if I had attempted disconnection. Further consultation and investigation will be needed, before surgery can be contemplated. Here...take a look for yourself."

Finch accepted a photograph of the offending article. Vaguely recognizing the instrument as something similar to a military grade prototype, that he had seen during one of his hacking jaunts. Feigning ignorance as to its provenance, excusing himself in search of air, he stood on a balcony formulating a plan of action. 

Jumping with surprise when his cell rang, the unknown caller ID was unhelpful, causing him to answer with a questioning: "Hello?"  
"Harold, she wants to help. Just give her a chance, we can sublimate this and turn it to our advantage. Helping Reese as well of course, it's win-win!" Root's coaxing voice filled Finch's head, who disliked how she nonchalantly played the caring card; in much the same way a disreputable card-shark, would produce an ace from up their sleeve.


	19. Dealing

"I will keep it in mind, Miss Groves," Harold bit back his irritation at her intrusive and calculating nature. Hitting the end call button with a little too much force, as he swallowed his distaste. He stood outside for a while in the frigid night air, taking deep breaths in an attempt to eradicate the baleful feeling that was overpowering him.

Eventually he re-entered the hospital and could not stand waiting anymore, he had to see that his love was alive, to check with his own eyes. Fortunately he slipped into John's room unobserved, being risque in not asking permission, but he did not want to risk being refused. He was too emotionally wrung out, to face a confrontation with any albeit well-meaning medical personnel; wanting to avoid a scene where he would have shamelessly wielded all his power as a platinum donor to get to his heart's desire. He only needed to be in the same place as his beloved, breathing the same air, something he thought that he would be unable to do and would never take that simple joy for granted again. 

Entering the sterile room and gasping as he saw a too pale John, appearing dead to the world on the bed; immediately horrified with his macabre assessment, rushing over to his one and only to reassure himself that he was indeed breathing. Dropping to his partner's side, he reached for his adored's hand, clasping it to his heart, kissing it in thankfulness that he had kept fighting to live and won. Feeling the tears welling up in his eyes and not bothering to attempt to stop them falling. Wishing Reese would move and not look so still. Scanning his boyfriend's form, grimly noticing how the lightly tanned skin had an almost ivory hue due to heavy blood loss no doubt. Then countless hours of sleeplessness and nightmare filled fitful nights caught up with him, as he heavily sank into the plush chair next to the bed; worriedly gazing at Reese, who haunted his dreams as he succumbed to exhaustion.

"Haroooooold!" John cried out as he fought his way back to consciousness, through a drug-induced stupefaction. This earnest cry, roused Finch from his uneasy sleep. The lovers hands were entwined as the mature male looked down at his younger mate, registering his distress and squeezing his fingers to offer comfort.  
"Wake up Mr Reese, it is all right, I am here."  
"Finch, are you okay?" 

The computer programmer shook his head slightly in disbelief, that John's first words after a major trauma where the ex-operative had died more than once, would be to enquire after another's health. "I am fine John, as ever thanks to you. I brought you to the hospital where Doctor Maddeline Enright saved your life, thank the heavens!" The genius's voice cracked up on the last part, as he was loathed to remember how close he had come to losing his dearest.

"Thank God you are alive! I thought...I must have dreamt...that I had completed the operation," stumbling over his words, as he could not speak of the horror that his nightmare had played out in horrific clarity; the sight of him killing his beloved with a shot to the head. Tears ran down the former CIA Agent's face as he trembled with emotion. Finch looked sympathetic and matched his love's wet visage, as he moved closer to his best friend, pulling him into a reassuring and loving embrace. Holding each other for an eternity, seeking and gladly receiving solace and warmth from the other. Their shared survival through yet another living hell, bringing them ever closer together. The ex-MIT student, tenderly stroked John's lower back as the old soldier mirrored the movement on his savior's spine.

Reese suddenly stilled and broke apart from the clinch, as a terrible thought occurred to him: "Did Enright manage to completely remove the device?"  
Harold uneasily shifted in his seat, as he tried to evade the question and John's intent gaze.  
"Everything will be fine John, I promise."  
"I'll take that as a no then!" The slight edge to the veteran's voice, made Finch dart a curious look at the other.  
"With this thing still in me you are in danger. You have to stay away from me." The mature man could feel his heart breaking, as mournful eyes and cutting words punctured through his very being.  
"I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to, please," Reese finished softly, forcing himself to turn away from his soul mate. His need to protect the only one that has ever counted, overruling everything else.  
"No John," the programmer riposted, desperately resolved and mulish.  
"Either you go, or I will leave," equaling the senior associate's stubbornness, with an iron will of his own, as John began to wrench himself up from the bed.

"Stop it Mr Reese, you will hurt yourself! I will go, if that is what you desire," bravely uttering the words that were killing him inside.  
Misty eyes met, full of love and despair; too wretched and hurt to openly declare their devotion at that moment. 

Suddenly a stern looking nurse hurried into the room, as an alarm had sounded alerting her that the patient had awakened. Monitors were shrieking and beeping all around, as with a furrowed brow she reprimanded Finch for intruding. Sharply ignoring her threats to call security, Harold held John's determined stare. The color had drained from both of their countenances, as they fought the force that attracted each to the other, that was stronger than gravity itself. Then like helpless iron filings flinging themselves at a magnet, Finch expertly dodged the enraged caregiver and rushed over to Reese. 

Tilting towards each other, their lips became locked in a passionate kiss.  
"I love you and I will find the answer John."  
"I know you will and I love you too Harold."  
Unwillingly they extricated themselves, only breaking eye contact when a gloomy billionaire turned away to exit the room.


	20. Searching

Reese watched a chop-fallen Finch leave and hated being the cause of his love's pain, but it could not be helped. Protecting his partner from himself, from losing control and becoming that slayer again had to be done. He despised being a pawn yet again, in a game that he had not agreed to play, but he was damned if he was going to adhere to someone else's rules. A lion trapped in a crummy circus, with a merciless tamer trying to beat him into submission and he was sick of it; the time had come to be the one cracking the whip, to find the ringleader and make them pay.

Tuning out from the nurse's fussing and chastisement, the ex-operative became submerged in the memory of his incubus. The night terror that had cleaved him and lingered still, coating him in a sense of unease as well as a sheen of sweat. Loss of integrity was something that scared him; as in the CIA he had been compelled to relinquish his moral code and do unspeakable acts all in the name of serving his country, that had in the end seemed a poor excuse. Nearly being responsible for taking away the superlative love of his life, even though he was being manipulated, was no balm for the sickness that had cored out his insides.

Recollecting with apprehension, preceding heart smashing fragments in time when he had assumed that he had heard Harold's death. Presuming this calamity, because he had not been present at his cohort's side. Impotently crying out his other half's name, after hearing the explosion that killed Matt Duggan and more importantly Finch or so he had chillingly thought; willing with every fiber of his being, for the latter to break the silence and reconstruct his world. Breaking the comm link when no answering call came, along with any reason to go on, seeing only a film of tears until he had blessfully laid eyes on his true love; whose arm he had gripped like his life depended on it, when he had helped the shocked Harold to his feet after racing to that chaotic scene. 

John's quick breaths wheezed out in an unsteady beat, just as they had when he had heard gun shots during his beloved's break-in at 'Homes for our Heroes.' Trying to force back tears that needed to fall, when a horrid image of his savior's bullet hole addled body lying dead on the ground suffocated him.

A movement from the periphery of his vision, caused him to leap back to the present from his extemporary trip down memory lane. Guardedly switching his attention to the health care provider, who was now standing above him and leaning into his personal space. Reading her face and only detecting concentrated sympathy there. Reese gratefully accepted the tissue, quickly wiping away the tears on his rapidly coloring cheeks; each awkward party thankful for the other's silence, the only sound coming from the hum of monitors diffusing the unquiet. 

hopehopehope 

A downcast genius left the hospital to begin working on setting John free. He went to Times Square, to anonymously utilize the robust wi-fi and hack the Pentagon. Determinedly focusing on his important undertaking, so as not to brood on the last time that he was sat there with his laptop, hearing his heroic beau tell him "...to stay clear of the building." The programmer had pulled the cat out of the bag then and hoped that he would do so again.

Finch rigidly sat on a cold, hard bench for hours, whilst the straining laptop worked hard trying to meet its demanding master's commands. Completely incognizant to the hubub of activity surrounding him, as New Yorkers hurried by in buzzing vehicles and on foot; nothing else registered only saving John. Striking the keys harder as his frustration mounted, at not being able to find anything facilitative; unavailing searches mounted, as the hot computer groaned and weighed as heavy, as the despair that held its owner in a vice-like grip. A painstaking virtual dragnet, tirelessly dredged the murky mire of government secrets, though all too slowly for Harold's liking. 

Agitation was dispelled with every unmodulated stroke of the mouse and tap of the screen. The gargantuan hidden drives busily utilized their secret stash of saved crucial data; impressive hardware supporting the software to indefatigably work on sub-routines, gateways and punch through encrypted firewalls. All the while, Harold miserably thought of his out-of-action munitions expert and painfully yearned for that welcoming whispery voice in his ear, providing immeasurable consolation.

This lonely figure could not help but brood and yen, whilst effortlessly building with code like a child playing with Lego. At least last time he had sat here it had ended with affirmative action, subsequently hearing John's unspoken plan; reuniting with his other half had been a godsend, after feeling impotent and bereft for so long. Disarming that bomb vest had given him his life back, as there was no being without his partner.

Afterwards unable to match his best friend's easy and joyful grin, as the terror of all that he had nearly lost was not yet fully repressed. Some things were major game-changers, that if they happened would unmake the world. Having John thank him, had made his calm facade slip, as tears welled up demanding descent. "Please, don't mention it." Had been his plea to Reese, as he had not wanted to embarrass them both by blubbing all over him, whilst stroking his hair and kissing his head; pulling John to himself in a tight hug, holding him so close because no distance was bearable, like a frantic parent reunited with an abducted child. 

The extent of his feelings for John had frightened him, as he had sworn after losing the few that he had loved to never endure that pain of loss again. Protecting himself, as caring was definitely not advantageous to one that could not safely put down roots and who was a dead man after all. It was also unfair to leave another Grace out there, grieving for a lost love that was never truly known to her, as due to past deviancy he always had to hide behind a mask of subterfuge. 

Then Reese had come along and surprisingly slipped under his defenses, like the good soldier and spy he was. However there was no artifice in that honorable man, only honesty and integrity; becoming the greatest friend he had ever known, in a time when he would never even have expected kindness. When this camaraderie had naturally developed into the profoundest love he had ever experienced, he could not compute how this had happened but he was so overjoyed that it had. All this fueled Harold's resoluteness to keep his beloved alive and well, for both their sakes, as they were two sides of the same coin, necessary for each other's survival. 

The disruptive chirp of the programmer's cell, rudely broke through his intense concentration. Carter's confident tone filled his earpiece, carrying with it a worried note: "Finch - are you bearing up okay? How is John? Is there anything I...or Fusco can do?" 

Finch appreciated her interest, but was too tired for an interrogative bombardment. He was just about to reel off a platitude, when his screen flashed and an informative message popped up.   
"Thank you for your concern. We are as well as can be expected. Actually Joss, there is something that you could do for us..."


	21. Frantic

John was dog-tired but anxiety was keeping the sandman at bay; worries of whether he could be healed and return to his rightful place at Harold's side were relentlessly dogging him, like hounds of hell. He missed his beloved so very much it physically traumatized him. Wanting more than anything to hear that punctilious verbiage in his ear, giving pleasure and consolation, but he was terrified of awakening the creature that had so ruthlessly taken hold of him. His face reddened with shame as he replayed

A thorough background check, including a police rundown (conducted by an unusually 'happy to help' Fusco) on Carter's passenger, turned up no red flags. Explaining why the individual, was now being driven to a topographic point that was favored for covert trysts by an elusive billionaire. 

It was late afternoon and the sun was dipping low in the wintertime sky. Finch sat on the bench overlooking the water, sedulously working on a resolution like a man obsessed. John was never far from his thoughts, or his view as he constantly monitored the cameras he had placed in the hospital room.

Touching the screen and tracing his lover's face, dearly wishing that he was there in person. Mercilessly biting back the tears and expelling heavy breath clouds in an effort to gain control of his spiraling emotions. Reminded of when he had watched from afar when Reese had been incarcerated in Rikers; saddened to see his tormented partner and hear his heartbreak. Wanting more than anything to get him back home and finding it difficult not to lose the plot; especially when he had John spouting out how wonderful his boss was, when the genius felt impuissant, if he could not save his VIP then there was no hope left in the world.  
A shadow loomed over him, as he squinted up at his welcome guest. Duly snapping his laptop shut and placing it on the seat, as he rose to his feet with a polite smile.

"Miss Ward, thank you for agreeing to meet."  
"You're Monica's friend! Mr...?"  
"Harold, please."  
"The officer said that this has to do with John. Is he all right?" The caring and panicked look she shot at Finch, momentarily made him prickle as he detected more than professional concern there. Immediately despising himself for his deficient feelings of jealousy, as giving his dearest the best possible care was all that mattered.

"Do you have a cell, Miss Ward? Please could you switch it off?" Nodding her assent to both questions and duly complying.

Choosing his words carefully, Finch proceeded to give her the heavily redacted version of events; quickly settling on the crux of the matter, as time was short."...John has had a device implanted within his head. We think that it is of military origin and with your experience with such matters in your army career, I hoped that you may be able to assist us."

"How did you know about my dealings with such instruments?" The surgeon warily eyed the male.  
"I appreciate that you have numerous questions and rightly so. However my friend is in dire need of your help and I implore you to shelve your suspicions for now to save him Doctor."

Trust did not come easily to the clandestine computer expert, but he was a drowning man and prayed that he was not just grasping at straws in beseeching this young woman to join their cause. Meeting her here first and conversing with her, had gone some way to appease his nagging doubts about allying with someone new. Knowing that she would have to be taken to Reese, relying on someone else to protect secrets and not reveal his location. 

Gauging that she was genuinely concerned for John helped convince him that he was doing the right thing. Another dark part of himself, that he guiltily acknowledged was his blind spot concerning her, scared of the threat that she posed to his relationship. It felt like he was handing Reese over on a plate, for her to sweep in and rescue him when Harold had wanted to be the one to do that in every respect. Mentally castigating himself for this irrational and selfish mindset, it was not as if he could perform surgery on John, he was hardly cut out for that, being squeamish was not a useful trait to have. It was more about exposing his boyfriend to a relative unknown, which to a control-freak was hard to bear.


End file.
